To Share a Sky
by impoeia
Summary: "Coming together is a beginning; keeping together is a progress; working together is a success." - Henry Ford. Follow my OCs, Jedi investigator Ro Arhen and clone trooper Wren, in this series of vignettes as they learn to work together in a galaxy that seems to grow darker every day. Part of the Mockingbird series.
1. Chapter 1: The Partnership Agreement

**Standard Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Star Wars in any shape, size or dimension, belongs to George Lucas. Ro and Wren are, however, all mine so hands off! *points blaster* Trades of permission only occur after proper amounts of chocolate-chip-fudge and cookie dough ice cream have been deposited into my account.

**Author's Note: **Alright, gentlebeings. Now that the formalities are out of the way, let me welcome you to this newest installment of the Mockingbird series. This will be a vignette series exploring Ro's and Wren's early adventures and the growth of their partnership. Postings will occur every Friday and should something interfere in that schedule, I'll do my best to give notice. Has no one slotted Darth Real Life yet?

Cheers! impoeia.

* * *

**The Partnership Agreement**

_Onboard the _Mockingbird, _en route to Ansion _

Wren polished off the last of his nuna eggs, dragging a piece of mealbread over the plate to soak up the remaining yolk. He pushed the bread into his mouth and took a long drag of his caf.

Ro watched him over the rim of her glass of muja juice, feeling a bit like a youngling watching the akk devour his latest kill at the local zoo.

The atmosphere inside the galley was….Not _hostile, _exactly, but definitely _warily expectant. _

Breakfast so far had been a very quiet affair, as neither one appeared to really know how to start this new day. Ro herself was feeling a bit tentative in that regard. She normally didn't have a problem with plunging into the deep end of a black hole, but this was entirely new territory to her and she wanted _everything_ to work out so badly.

Not that the galaxy was doing her the favor of making that particular task easy.

Artee was up in the cockpit, flying the ship and happy over the convenient excuse that got him as far away from their newest crew member as possible. Her astromech had not been happy - to say the least - about Wren joining the team. Since leaving Gaftikar the day before, Artee had gone from shrieking dire statistics of doom to wailing off every human platitude his memory banks could provide him with - including the one about three being a crowd - and had finally settled into a sulky silence.

_All ol' Artee needs now is a 'No Organics Allowed' holo for the cockpit and he'll be in total emo-droid mode._

Ro, on the other hand, didn't have an excuse or task to fall back on and needed to figure out a way to deal with her altered living situation.

It was the morning after she'd invited Wren to join her on her ship and her quest to stop sleemos and baddies across the galaxy in the name of the Republic, justice and gooey crumblebuns everywhere and Ro had no idea what to say to the man.

The silence that had settled over them after Ro's first enthusiastic good morning and Wren's answering grunt was beginning to edge into the uncomfortable and awkward. She'd dealt with morning grumps before, but having Wren stand in her cozy galley, freshly scrubbed and as wary as a gundark out of its cave, had driven home the reality of the situation she'd gotten herself into. Ever since, her stomach was a-flutter with nervous butterflies and her tongue was all twisted up and shy.

She didn't want to say the wrong thing and make Wren regret his decision to accompany her, instead of staying either on Gaftikar or returning to his old unit. But how long exactly could two people sit across from each other without saying a word?

_We didn't have this hitch on Gaftikar, _Ro thought ruefully as she refilled her glass for a lack of anything better to do. _Didn't take us more than three winks before we were gabbing away. Or bickering. _Yes, they'd done a lot of the latter on Gaftikar. Looking back on the last two hectic weeks, it seemed to Ro that, as a matter of fact, they hadn't been able to say two sentences to one another before descending into shouting matches, childish bickering or both. And now?

_Total _emtix_, _she thought, not at all happy with the situation. Where had this sudden awkwardness come from, she wondered? She was usually so chatty around people and Wren….Well. Granted, Wren wasn't the Chancellor of Conversationalism, but he could turn a phrase and he'd certainly never been shy about voicing his opinions during their time together on Gaftikar.

She peeked at him from beneath the cover of her long, unruly bangs, but his dark brown eyes were taking in the galley like he was analyzing every nook and cranny. Judging by his expression, he wasn't at all interested in starting a commo with her.

She'd given him the grand tour before they'd left Gaftikar and he'd done his own thorough inspection of her wonderful ship before withdrawing into one of the two empty cabins and shutting the door in her face.

_But not before he gave me a whopper reaming for that hug. _

Wren had _not _been appreciative of her little hug ambush.

Oh, she'd known it was probably a bad idea the moment the impulse had popped into her head. The last time she'd asked him if she could hug him, Wren had almost put a blaster bolt through her then and there.

But she hadn't been able to help herself. Seeing him standing there in the galley, with his bags all packed, a triple-threat hunk of handsomeness all ready to share her space with her, it was all her dreams come true.

She'd finally found a partner who might stand a decent chance of keeping up with her. And her excitement and joy had been so great at that prospect, she hadn't been able to contain the excited energy.

But given the reaction she'd gotten, she might want to find someone else to hug, the next time the urge came over her.

_Mental note: Cookie. Hugs. Potent mixture. _

Ro's wandering gaze fell on his plate and she felt her lips twitch a little at the sight of its emptiness. Wren was a surprisingly neat eater. Given his fierce nature and his even more ferocious temper, she'd somehow assumed he'd be the type to gobble his food like a half-starved sungwa. Instead, there wasn't a crumb in sight and his utensils lay next to his plate in so orderly a fashion that Ro was certain she could take a ruler to them and find knife and fork spaced evenly to a fraction of an inch.

For someone who was, at other times, such a complete maverick as Wren, this orderliness seemed out of character, yet he went through the motions with the thoughtlessness of an unconscious habit.

_Wonder who house-broke him? And how? Whip, chair and reward? _

Finishing his inspection of her galley, Wren turned his attention back to Ro. Seeing her close regard of him, the trooper raised his black eyebrows.

"Something on your kriffing mind?"

Ro grimaced. _Of all the possible conversation starters._ Her new partner had a mouth like a Dagobah swamp.

"You," she admitted. "Us."

"'_Us_'?" he repeated with that sardonic twist to his lips. The action pulled the scar on the right corner of his mouth tight, giving the gesture a mocking element. "There's no 'us', _cheeka._"

Ro frowned, pricked by the stinging pellets of his _mockery. _"Absotively there is," she protested. "We're a team now. Partners." She injected the last word with a bit of tentative hope. She'd been wanting a partner for so long now; even before she'd started traveling on her own as a Jedi investigator.

She'd tried everything, from asking people across the personality spectrum to join up with her, to attempting to insert herself into an established team. But nothing had ever fit; nothing had ever _felt _right.

With Callista and Geith, she'd always been the third wheel.

Ash Jarvee was more interested in the mechanics of a problem, than pursuing the actual solution.

Vash Dan hadn't even survived the first ten minutes of their first date; wilting beneath the force of her enthusiastic personality like a flower exposed to too much sun.

Kaes was far too self-involved to care about the galaxy's problems and the one time she'd tried to team up with an Antarian Ranger, the poor woman had begged for a reassignment to Tabiid after not even a week in Ro's company.

People liked Ro; but in small doses. Wren was one of the very few organics she'd ever met who had been able to stand a near constant exposure of undiluted essence of Ro and keep giving as good as he got.

He was strong. He was passionate. He was…

"You're not my partner, _cheeka. _You're my assignment and effing meal-card. Not to mention my escape route off of that fekking mudcrutching Rimmer planet."

He was a total mono _jerk_!

"Did you forget to read the fine print?" she demanded, more hurt than angry. Rejection tended to do that. "We're supposed to be working together."

Wren snorted. "Really?" he drawled. "Because according to _my _orders, I'm supposed to be holding your kriffing leash."

Ro blinked, momentarily distracted. "Your orders?"

Wren grunted what might have been an affirmative, pouring himself another cup of caf and Ro was glad she'd remembered to filch some from the Eyat Command Base's mess hall. She didn't drink caf herself, but she'd lived with enough caf-guzzlers to know it was a bad idea to deprive them of their morning's jolt of java. And that went doubly for so natural a _sweetheart_ as Wren.

"Came in yesterday," he told her, his tone nonchalant.

Ro narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion ratcheting up at the change in his voice. He met her gaze evenly and though his face was deliberately bland, she could feel the flicker of _amusement _dance across his Force-aura, like heat lightning.

He was _baiting _her.

She took a deep breath. Well, two could play that game. Ro let her irritation with him flow back into the Force and gifted the trooper with a dazzling smile.

"That's stellar," she chirped and made a grab for another flatcake. "You feeling in a sharing mode?"

His eyes flashed in vexation at failing to get a rise out of her and Ro's grin widened. He was _very _good at getting under people's skin, but then, so was she. Ro knew how to get what she wanted without giving an inch in turn.

"According to GAR HQ, I'm responsible for making sure you don't get your fekking barvy head blown off," he snapped. "As well as ensure you act," he grimaced in distaste, "'in the best interest of the Republic'." Wren gestured at her with his caf mug. "Doesn't sound like the kriffing GAR trusts you past the fardling red tape."

"Sure does," she murmured thoughtfully. Well, that didn't quite sound like the deal she'd hammered out with Master Yoda and Windu.

_Wonder if the High Council knows Wren was issued an alternate version of our deal? _Ro had been insistent in her commo with Yoda and Windu that she wanted an equal partnership with her clone escort; a concept neither Jedi had been completely against, though she'd had to settle in the final draft for having Wren promoted to lieutenant. _That_, apparently, was as close to equal in standing as the military would allow.

But it didn't seem the GAR agreed and the brass in charge must have gone behind the Council's back, issuing Wren a set of orders that might have been the same in context, but were certainly different in wording.

_Sneaky and strange. I thought the High Council was part of the decision-making element in the brass department. _

"First the damn shinies and now this." Wren's half-muttered words jolted Ro out of her pensiveness. Clearly Wren wasn't happy with his orders either, though for obviously different reasons. "I've been reduced to an effing handler."

Ro slammed down her glass, causing juice to slosh over the rim. "Handler?" she asked incredulous. "Did I _need _a handler when I was hauling your keister out of trouble at the Shenio mine? Did I _ever _look like I needed a handler?"

Wren snorted, pointing his index finger first at her long, pale blond hair with the electric blue zigzag lines dyed into it, then let the finger travel down her body, taking in the neon pink shirt that hung off of one slim shoulder, the purple leggings and finally ending by pointing at her fuzzy Lepi slippers through the table.

"I'd say you're in need of a karking asylum, _cheeka, _but that call is above my vaping paygrade."

Her face went a dark crimson, adding another delightful shade to her already colorful appearance.

"What do you have against my wardrobe?" she asked indignantly. She _liked _the way she dressed. She thought she looked stellar.

Wren rolled his eyes, beginning to peel a muja fruit. "You want that list effing alphabetical or _crinking _numerical?"

"It's colorful," she declared hotly. "And my clothes are _bombad _better than monochromatic hard-skin," she added with distaste, waving an expansive hand at the scuffed white of the plastoid armor he wore, and the black bodyglove beneath. "_You _look like tauntaun _poodoo _on a Hoth snowfield. Jerk," she added in a mutter, loud enough to be sure he heard.

Wren peeled his lips back in something halfway between a smile and a snarl. "Barvy _cheeka._"

"_Poodoo _head," she volleyed back, adding a glare for good measure, which he returned in kind.

"_Dwaning _laserbrain."

"Clay-brained, knotty-pated _stoopa_."

"Vaping kark of a Jedi!"

"Loathsome grub toad!"

They were on their feet now, shouting into each others faces, which were turning crimson with exertion and rage. The fact that Ro had to crane her neck to glare at the much taller trooper only stacked insult upon insult.

"Chuff-brained, snarked-up _schutta_!"

"_Rampallian!_"

"Farkling bitc...Wait?" He blinked at her in confusion. "What?"

"_Rampallian_!" she repeated at the top of her lungs, glaring up at him. Then, just for spite, she added, "_Fustilarian_! And now I'm out of smart-think insults, so _there_!"

She stamped one Lepi slippered foot and dropped back into her chair, arms crossed over her thin chest and pouting for all she was worth.

_And darn tooting-hooting if I feel younglingish about it! _He _started with the name-calling. _

"What the fek's a fustilarian?"

Wren was staring down at her like she'd grown a second head without having the courtesy of informing him about the event beforehand.

The air in the galley was thick with the spicy-orange taste of _irritation_ and was threatening to edge into the more jagged, red and black sensation of _anger. _In response to the tension, as well as adding to it, Wren's Force-aura was alive with crackling, lightning-like waves of growing _rage__, _held only in check by the deepening furrow between his brows, as he tried to figure out her last set of insults.

Ro blew her bangs out of her eyes. "Learn to read," she told him haughtily, "oh ye knave of lacking imagination."

"I thought you were out of insults?" he asked sarcastically.

Ro gave him a glare that would have peeled the paint off of her astromech. "I said, I'm out of smart-think insults. Learn to listen while you're at it." Then she sniffed in a perfect imitation of her adoptive mother, Eda, at her most condescending. "Besides, the intelligent woman of class always keeps a spare in case of emergencies."

He stared at her. She stared back.

Three seconds ticked by, then fifteen…

And then Wren roared with laughter. "You…" He didn't seem to be able to manage more than that. Dropping back into his own seat, he covered his eyes with one hand, shaking his head as he continued to laugh.

"What?" Ro looked at him, puzzled. _And people say I'm mercurial. _Still, her lips were already twitching with the need to join the hilarity. For a man who seemed to live on rage, Wren had a surprisingly nice laugh.

She giggled, then quickly clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle the urge. She was _mad _at him, gosh toot it.

"You," he repeated and managed to force the sentence out in-between bursts of laughter. "You are...the single….most thermal _cheeka_...this side of the Rishi Maze." There was an undeniable tinge of _admiration _to the words.

She couldn't keep the giggles in anymore. They spilled out of her like a river, until they grew into a torrent of laughter.

Ro'd always had an infectious laugh, though whether this was a result of her Force-empathy or a natural inclination, she didn't know or care about. The fact was, the sound of her laughter seemed to spur Wren on even more and the tension left the galley - indeed, the entire ship - like clouds being scattered by a warm summer breeze.

The tentative toot of Artee inquiring whether he should release some anesthetic gas to control what sounded like a crazed pack of toklars, managed to settle Ro somewhat again.

Her laughter faded into a big grin as she hollered loud enough for Artee to hear: "No need. Pack's been fed and appeased."

Across from her, Wren snorted into his cup of caf, but the sound was one of good humor, rather than derision.

"That clanker is as fekked up as you are," he told her.

Ro shrugged good-naturedly; a sound laughing-fit in the morning tended to put her in a stellar mindset for the rest of the day.

_Things are already looking up. If we can laugh together, then what _can't _we do?_

"Artee's got his quirks and woodles," she replied. "So do I. Keeps things on the interesting side of the scale."

"Sure fekking does," he agreed and popped a slice of muja fruit into his mouth. Wren chewed the fruit contemplatively. "You've got good chow, _cheeka_."

Which, she reflected, was the second nice thing he'd said to her in as many minutes. If he kept this up, she might have to upgrade him to a decent human being.

"I try. I like your laugh," she told him, deciding it was her turn to dish out some compliments.

Both of Wren's eyebrows rose to his hairline, but the look of mild amusement did not fade from his face. There were traces of _bafflement _across his Force-aura, like thin lines of heavily diluted paint, as if he wasn't quite certain how to react to being - sincerely - complimented. "Really?" he finally drawled and polished off the last of his muja fruit.

"Really," she affirmed, then startled fiddling with her Padawan braid. "You know, I…" she stopped, uncertain if she wanted to continue on this track. They'd just had a nice moment - sort of. Would she ruin the tentative truce left in the wake of their shared laughter if she brought the conversation back to an earlier topic?

But even as she contemplated these things, Ro felt her traitor mouth running away with her again. " ...I'm heaps sorry you got relegated to Jedi babysitter and believe me that's not at all what I hashed out with Master Yoda and Windu on account that I don't really wanna be GAR equipment. I just want the access and the Intel and I've _always _wanted someone to come adventuring with me and be the bestes of partners and it would be real mono _bombad _stellar if we could squeeze in being friends as well, but I don't want you doing the duty just on account of it being ordered officialdom and the likes and I can understand if you want off the bird at the next port and go back to blasting tinnies without the need to hover over some Jedi, new and green to the rank and I…"

She bit down on her tongue to stop the fast flow of words. "I just…" she flushed and lowered her eyes. "I just want you to know you can…" What had been the word the clones had used? "...call endex to this experiment anytime you want. No hard feelings included in the package."

Well, she'd be _bombad _disappointed, but Wren didn't need to know that.

"Do you ever not kriffing talk?" he wondered aloud. "And 'bestes' is not a fardling word."

She peeked at him through the cover of her bangs and was just in time to see Wren hide a smile behind the rim of his caf mug.

The gesture heartened her and Ro beamed up at the trooper in response. "It so totally is," she protested, "so long as you use it right. So," she added hesitantly, cocking her head at him questioningly. "you...staying?"

Wren took his own sweet time in answering, making a show of draining the last dregs of his caf, while Ro fidgeted with her Padawan braid and the silk string of her holo-locket in turn.

He was _torturing _her with curiosity, the big mono jerk.

"The way I see it," he finally said, "the GAR wants you contained. You're an uncertainty and the military does not kriffing handle uncertainties well." He snorted at this and his eyes flickered from side to side, as if he were reliving some private memory. The right corner of his mouth twitched in what she privately thought was _not _the beginning of a smile. "You," and he pointed a finger at her, "are going to drive them thermal and I'm not about to miss the effing fireworks."

She blinked at that. "But isn't it your job now to make sure there aren't any fireworks?" She wasn't sure if she understood his stakes in all of this correctly. He was clearly an adventurer and ardent risk-taker, if his behavior on Gaftikar was anything to go by. And there was a wildness about him that definitely did not conform well to the military standard form. Which was sort of why she'd gotten the impression that he'd rather walk out on their new partnership than be relegated to a secondary position of making sure _she _didn't step out of line.

He smirked down at her, the expression a mixture of supreme confidence bordering on total arrogance and lazy amusement. "I was bred to pull the fekking trigger and die for the _crinking_ glory of the Republic, _cheeka. _Nothing in my flash-training about reigning in Jedi. Besides," and the smirk widened into a grin that could have cut through durasteel, "why would I deprive myself of the fun of watching you run the kriffing brass into the ground? _Commander._"

Her new rank seemed to amuse him even more and he startled to chuckle, the sound a low rumble coming from his chest.

Ro cocked her head from left to right, as if this would help her turn his words over in her mind. _Not just wild, _she decided, _but with a chaotic bend the size of a Hutt slime-trail. _And he wanted _her _to be the source of that chaos. _Because then he can disappear into it, _she realized. _He can be as 'mongos a maverick as he likes, so long as his superior is the same. I'm the commander; I'm the boss. If I do craziness, then he practically has to as well. It's the perfect cover._

She felt her admiration for this man grow exponentially.

She'd thought she was doing him a favor by offering him a job that would tax his considerable skills and talents - something he'd obviously been lacking on Gaftikar.

And he'd taken the opportunity and run with it at lightspeed, getting down and dirty with all the possible means by which he could exploit this situation. Without realizing it, Ro had given Wren the perfect place and opportunity to do exactly as he pleased and be himself without any reservations. All he needed to do was take care to fill in the proper reports and keep his activities stashed beneath her craziness.

_And ensure I can stand him for that long. _He'd called her his 'meal-ticket' but she wondered if he'd fully grasped just how dependent he was of her good will.

_I don't want that, _she thought. _I don't want a dependent. I want a _partner.

"So you're down with bending the rules?" she asked aloud.

That caused him to raise another sardonic eyebrow. "Haven't read my file yet, have you?"

"Well...no," she admitted. She had five datapads worth of information regarding her newly acquired position as a Jedi commander in the Grand Army of the Republic and his file was just the tip of the asteroid. "Haven't really gotten around to it. Good read?"

"Good enough for a kriffing promotion, apparently."

"You don't like being a lieutenant?" she asked in surprise.

"It'll fekking do."

And that was, apparently, all he was going to say on the subject.

Ro scratched the top of her head, then pulled thoughtfully at the end of her Padawan braid. "So you'll let me do as I go, despite what the GAR wants."

"More fun for me," he confirmed with a flash of teeth.

"'Kay, I can roll with that. But if we're not going to follow GAR rules or Jedi rules, then we need some rules of our own."

She jumped to her feet, snapping her fingers together as the idea crystallized in her mind. "Think-flash, and this one's a beaut."

Ro raced over to the kitchenette part of the galley, pulling open drawers and cabinets as she searched. "Where is it? Where is it?" she hummed under her breath, while Wren watched her with growing interest and some small amount of concern. He hadn't know her for all that long, but he'd already learned to regard any 'think-flash' of hers with a good portion of wariness. Especially if that idea involved him.

"Aha!" Triumphantly, she held up a pad of flimsis.

"If you're looking to make yourself a hat," Wren drawled from his position at the table, "I believe the convention states tin-wrap is best for keeping your thoughts in your head. Such as they are," he added.

Ro stuck her tongue out at him and skipped back to the table, flimsi-pad and stylus in hand. But instead of returning to her former seat, she plopped herself down on the bench that ran along one wall, right next to Wren.

"Skooch?" she asked entreatingly, nudging his shoulder gently to get her point across.

He glared at her, but complied, clearly too puzzled and curious to deny her.

Ro shoved the plates and the rest of their breakfast out of her way, before settling the flimsis and beginning to write.

"What the fek are you doing?" Wren wanted to know, peering past her arm at what she was writing.

"I told you," she said, rolling her eyes at his obtuseness, "You really do need to learn how to listen, Cookie. You _and _me," she said, clearly emphasizing the conjunction, "need our own set of rules. Something that's _us_." Ro quickly glanced at Wren, wondering if he would object to the personal pronoun again.

His eyes met hers briefly and she could actually _taste _the careful calculation that was going on behind those brown depths, it was so focused. He gave her a single nod, to show she could continue and Ro felt her heart leap a little.

She smiled, feeling that urge to hug him again, but decided her galley wouldn't survive another temper explosion like he'd gone through yesterday.

"Alright, so us. What's us?" she wondered, staring down at the flimsi pad, tapping the stylus against her bottom lip.

Wren read over what she'd written so far and snorted. "'The Partnership Agreement'. Trying to go for lawyer, _cheeka_?"

She glared at him and tried to elbow him in the ribs, but he dodged her attempt even in these close confines and retaliated by jerking on a strand of her long hair, the motion just on the edge of being painful.

"Hey!" She swatted his hand away. "Let me concentrate."

She reread what she had, then carefully printed out the words Shiv and Eda had hammered into her about what it meant to have a partner.

Wren watched, groaned in exasperation and snatched the pad away from her.

"Cookie! Warn a gal! I could have smudged the page!"

"Shove it down the airlock."

Wren's handwriting was broader and bolder than hers, but also far neater.

This time, she was the one to peer over his shoulder, watching him write, her chin barely an inch away from resting on his shoulder bell.

Wordlessly, he shrugged her off and shoved the pad back in front of her.

She reread his addition in conjunction with hers and found herself grinning like a loon and not giving a hoot about it. "I _like _this," Ro declared.

"It's a paragraph and two fekking rules, _cheeka. _Don't get cocky."

She graced him with her most innocent smile. "Seeing as you're the masc in this party, I'll leave all 'cocky' related issues to you, Cookie."

That surprised another bark of laughter out of him. "You little bitch."

"Watch your mouth," she replied in mock-indignation and threw a breakfast roll at his head.

He caught the roll, pulverizing it into crumbs in his fist, then threw the entire mess back in her face.

Ro screeched and dove beneath the table, coming back up again on the other side, where she grabbed the mealbread basket as her next source of ammo. She cocked her arm back to throw her improvised missiles, but her target was already gone.

Confused, Ro hesitated a vital second, giving Wren - who'd also ducked beneath the table - the opportunity to grab her legs and pull them out from under her.

She yelped and the mealbread basket went flying as she tried to brace for impact.

"Cookie!"

"Fekking _cheeka_!"

"_Jerk!_"

From up in the cockpit, almost lost in the din of the fight, came Artee's admonishing, _I told you so. _

* * *

Cleaning the galley had almost resulted in another fight, but neither Ro nor Wren could argue with the result.

The galley sparkled and smelled nicely of the citrus-scented cleaner Ro liked to use.

Once everything was done and the last crumb of pulverized bread had been swept up, Ro pinned the flimsi to her conversator.

The flimsi sheet had gotten a tad crumpled and stained in the fight between Jedi and trooper, but Ro deemed it to be in good condition still and used a Wookiee-shaped magnet to pin it in place.

"Utterly fekking ridiculous," was Wren's comment to the entire affair.

Ro adjusted the magnet so that the flimsi hung _just so. _"That's not what you said when I was stuffing syrup down your ears."

The reminder brought about a blistering volley of invectives in three different languages, to which Ro replied with a laugh and an outstretched tongue.

* * *

**The Partnership Agreement:**

From this moment on, the two parties, heretofore referred to as Jedi Commander/Jedi investigator Roweena Arhen and Lieutenant Wren, hereby agree to adhere to the following rules, written down on this here piece of flimsi, for the duration of their partnership and for the betterment of cooperation, the preservation of goods, the ship and Artee's sanity, as well as for the hinder and hamperment of sleemos, bad guys, bullies and the criminal element in this, the known galaxy.

**Partnership Rules:**

_Rule #1: _Partners watch each other's backs.

_ Rule #2: _Never fekking screw over your partner, unless you want to end up slotted by said partner.

* * *

**Translation: **_Emtix _= vacuum (Bocce)


	2. Chapter 2: The Welcoming Hypothesis

**Author's Note: **I picture this chapter taking place about three days after the conclusion of **Call of the Mockingbird**.

* * *

**The Welcoming Hypothesis**

_Coth Fuuras Space Station_

Wren slammed the cabinet shut with a growl. "Fek."

"Wh's d'matter?" a sleepy voice asked from behind him.

Wren glanced over his shoulder to see Ro standing at the entrance to the _Mockingbird's _galley, rubbing sleep out of her eyes with one fist.

Despite his growing foul mood, Wren felt his lips twitch involuntarily at the sight of his so-called '_partner_'.

Ro's long mass of pale blond hair was a knotted mess and stuck out slightly to one side, giving her a lop-sided appearance. Her normally thick tangle of bangs was matted to her forehead and she peered at him through slitted, sleep-swollen eyes. There were pillow creases on one cheek and the fuzzy, light blue nightgown with the bright yellow birds she'd worn to bed looked at least one size too big and reached all the way down to the tips of her white - and equally fuzzy - Lepi slippers.

Still half-asleep on her feet and in that outfit, Ro looked like a youngling and about as threatening as a tumble bunny.

"Nice outfit," he told her by way of greeting. "I see you've decided to strike down the Seps by inducing fekking laugh-aneurysms."

Some of the sleepiness disappeared out of her oval face, to be replaced by a scowl.

"Did I miss the memo about 'good morning' going out of style?" she asked, an edge of petulance to her voice.

"Good kriffing morning," he snapped. "We're out of vaping caf."

This garnered him a few blinks. Ro brushed her bangs out of her eyes and shuffled towards the row of cabinets, trying to finger-comb her wild hair into some order while she was at it.

Ro peered first into the cabinet on his left, then reached up into the one he'd just finished ransacking, taking down the tin she'd used to store the caf beans. Taking off the lid, she gazed down into the empty container for a good, long while, as if trying to determine the location of the tin's missing contents via the leftover caf grinds.

"Hmmm," she hummed lightly under her breath.

"Well?" he asked, patience running dangerously low. Wren was _not _a morning person, even with caf at hand.

"We are poselutely out of caf." She nodded sagely along with her words, as if agreeing with herself.

"I can fekking see that for myself," he snapped.

"Well, then why did you ask?" she wanted to know.

"I kriffing didn't!"

She blinked, cocking her head to the side in the manner she adopted when carefully considering something. "You know," she finally said, "I believe you're right. About the caf and the asking."

Wren hissed in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was too Force-forsaken fardling early for this.

"Where do you keep the _crinking _caf on this over-painted bird?"

"Right here," was Ro's slightly sheepish answer and she held out the empty tin. Then embarrassment turned into a frown. "And what do you have against _Mockingbird's _ink?"

Ignoring the latter question, Wren focused on her first statement. "Are you telling me there's no more kriffing caf onboard?"

"Why would there be?" she asked in turn. "I don't drink the stuff."

"You don't..." Wren didn't hold much to convention, but this was about as close to blasphemy as he'd ever heard. "But there was caf yesterday and the fekking day before." He _knew _he had not imagined that; nothing in this galaxy could quite taste like the brew the Grand Army served as 'caf'.

"Well sure. But that was the caf I filched from Eyat Base's mess hall." She rattled the tin under his nose. "Which is mono gono now."

"Why the fek didn't you take enough for the entire stanging trip to Ansion?" he asked angrily.

"Because we're stopping halfway at Coth Fuuras." And she gestured out of one of the viewports and at the giant docking bay they'd been directed to during the last cycle.

Wren ran a hand over his short-cropped hair, muttering about barvy fems who were too thermal to grasp the importance of a steady and regular caf supply.

"Then kriffing get some," he growled.

"I don't drink it," she repeated and poked a finger into his chest. "_You _get the caf." She gestured again at the giant space station surrounding them. "I'm sure there's oodles of caf in the station's shops."

"Me?" He blinked down at her in surprise.

"Sure." She brushed past him and opened a drawer on the other side of the galley, rummaging through the contents before coming up with a flat, square piece of plasti. "Take the account card." She flipped the card towards him and he caught it easily one-handed. "Buy some nuna eggs while you're at it." She yawned hugely and started shuffling back towards the corridor and the ship's cabins, then stopped, turning back to eye him critically. "Might wanna think about putting on some civvie masc threads," she told him, pointing at the black bodylgove he was wearing, a wicked smile on her lips. "That leaves _emtix _to an indecent imagination. There should be some practical threads in the third cabin, second closet to the left. And we could use some more milk, the way you're scarfing down those flatcakes."

Then she was down the corridor.

"Wait! Ro!" He stormed after her, grabbing the little nuisance by the elbow. "You can't be karking serious."

"Why not?" She turned on him, yanking her elbow out of his grasp.

"Because I've never kriffing used one of these!" And he waved the account card under her nose.

Ro sniffed, non-plussed. "Well then, it's time and tick-tocks past that Cookie learns. New experiences are good for body, mind _and _soul."

"Ro..."

"I'm going back to catch some more winks on the zee's-cruiser. You have fun with that." And she pointed at the account card. "But not tons. I'm not made out of creds."

And before he could say anything else, she slipped out from beneath his grasp and back into her cabin, closing the door in his face.

Wren gaped at the cabin door, torn between utter outrage and total bafflement. He considered slicing into the door controls and dragging her back out by her absurd hair, then realized how ridiculous such a reaction would make him appear.

This was about fekking _caf_.

He was a highly-trained soldier, a kriffing ARC. He was capable of getting his own caf.

Muttering harsh invectives, Wren turned to exit the ship, then stopped, reconsidering. He looked down at himself and the bodyglove he wore. "Ah, fierfek."

He stalked over to the cabin that had been introduced to him as Ro's "work and supply station". The cabin had been re-fitted, so that three of the walls were lined with floor to ceiling cabinets, drawers and wardrobes. The wall on the far right featured a large workstation, which could be pulled out of a compartment set into the wall.

He hadn't had a chance to go through every single drawer yet, but Wren had the feeling that even if he had, there'd be more little treasures hidden away, out of sight. Ro had the air of a little magpie, secreting away shiny things.

He opened the second closet to the left and indeed, there were several items of male clothing filling up half of the closet's space.

"Do I even want to know?" he wondered. "Not effing likely."

It took a while, but he did manage to find a shirt and pants that more or less fit him. Most of the clothes appeared to be in Ro's size, but this particular set was big, even on him. The shirt smelled of soap and a very faint, but distinctly alien, musky scent.

Did these clothes belong to Ro's brother or, more likely, her adoptive father?

"Kriff it. I'll find the fek out later."

He pulled on the shirt and pants over his bodyglove, tucking the account card into a pocket.

* * *

Ro poked her head out of her cabin, once she was certain Wren's distinctive Force-signature was well away from _Mockingbird's _dock.

"Stellar." She dashed out of her cabin, into the ship's 'fresher and back out in record time, twisting the wet mass of her hair into a knot.

"Artee!" she called up to the cockpit once she was back in the galley. "Stop moping and get your tinnie non-existent behind down here! Operation Surprise is a go!"

She crouched before a cabinet and began pulling out boxes and canisters of paint, while Artee began his barrage of objections and complaints.

Ro blew the bangs out of her eyes. "Nerve-frazzled droid," she muttered under her breath. "Memo to self: Don't let Artee watch holo-serials with you no more. He's learning way mono too many drama dialogues. Artee!" she hollered, cutting the astromech off mid-protest. "Either get your circuits down here or I tell Eda what really happened to her Huj mat!"

Silence, then a meek affirmative tootle.

Ro grinned, shaking her head as she checked that she had everything she would need. She'd been planning this '_Welcome Aboard_' party for Wren ever since leaving Gaftikar and she'd "requisitioned" quite a few things from the Eyat Base in the half-hour he'd needed to pack his things. But she hadn't calculated on getting such a _bombad _perfect opportunity to shoo him off the ship before Ansion. Now she had to scramble to get everything ready before he came back from his shopping trip.

Which, given Coth Fuuras' security protocols, his general attitude and the fact that there were almost a hundred other spacecrafts docked and resupplying, should take him a good bit of tick-tocks.

With a hum of his repulsors, Artee came floating down the cockpit, still grumbling about the entire idea.

"Stop complaining. This'll be mono prime fun," she told him and shoved a box of flimsi streamers into his claw arm. "Here, you take care of the galley and get the cake started. _I'm _gonna get started on Cookie's present."

She gathered up the pots of paint in her arms, leaving a shrilly complaining Artee to handle things in the galley. This was. Going to be. _Stellar_!

Ro could hardly wait to see Cookie's reaction to her surprise. Skipping to his cabin, she began to sing: "Funfunfunfun-funfunfunfun, oh-funfunfunfunnnnn."

* * *

Wren fought the urge to kick the ship's ramp as it lowered and managed a compromise. Instead of the ship, he kicked one of the many servo-droids that scuttled about the docking bay, this one a boxy contraption responsible for keeping the floors clean.

The droid let out an electronic squeal as it was booted halfway through the docking bay, turning end over end before slamming into the opposing wall. It righted itself laboriously, then let out a flood of sharp shrills and a clanker's invectives.

Wren snarled at the thing. "Go fekking tell it to someone who gives an effing kriff." And he stalked up the ramp, ignoring the looks he was getting from the station's maintenance personnel and the crew members from other docked ships.

He was not. In the karking. Mood.

But once in _Mockingbird's _hangar bay, despite his anger at the kriffing civvies and all the inane processes they'd come up with to make a single effing task like buying caf almost kriffing impossible, he became aware that something was off.

His head came up like an akk dog scenting danger.

The ship was _too _quite.

Wren had a split second to process this fact before Ro jumped out from behind one of the crates, throwing bits of flimsi into the air.

"Surprise!"

The holdout blaster he'd strapped to the small of his back, beneath his civvy shirt, was out and aimed at the space between her eyes before the last syllable had left her mouth, the bag of groceries falling to the deck plates, spilling caf, milk and cracked nuna eggs everywhere.

Ro and Wren froze and then Artee shot out from his own hiding space, just that second slower than his organic, tootling something that sounded like a sullen imitation of Ro's own shout. More of the colorful flimsi bits were sprouting from the top of the astromech's domed head.

And then things started to get really kriffing vaped.

At Artee's appearance, Wren had instinctively shifted the muzzle of his blaster so that he could cover both potential targets. Artee realized his peril almost in the same instant.

The slightly petulant tone of his electronic whistles turned into full-out shrilling panic. The droid hit a pitch no Human ear could withstand without starting to bleed as its domed head began to spin wildly and it careened to and fro, trying to make for the cargo hold's exit, but managing to bounce against every available crate in the process.

Ro and Wren had jumped almost a meter each at Artee's ear-splitting shrieks, Wren barely avoiding slipping in the growing puddle of milk and egg yolk as he tried to get as far away from the barvy clanker as possible.

Ro had to scramble atop of a crate in order to save herself from being run-over by her astromech as Artee made for the exit, sparks beginning to shoot out of his domed head.

The droid didn't make it far.

It missed the doorframe by a good three centimeters and crashed - radar eye first - into the wall. The impact caused more sparks to shoot out of its top and with a resounding crash, the astromech fell flat on its back and did not get back up again.

Astonished, Ro and Wren exchanged a look.

"Uhm." Ro scratched her head, looking embarrassed. "Surprise?"

Wren stared at her - she was back to wearing that karking awful dress with the dizzying array of colors and geometric patterns - then at the self-immobilized droid and finally at the spoiled fruits of his nerve-wracking labor. Scraps of colorful flimsi were soaking in the milk and all seven of the caf bags he'd bought had burst open, spilling beans and ground caf everywhere. The nuna eggs were a total loss.

He took a deep breath, trying to marshal what little patience he had while ignoring the sharp rise of his temper. His hands itched with the urge to wring her scrawny little neck, but his more rational side argued that this was probably some kind of stanging barvy civvy thing of hers. So instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose, but did _not _holster his blaster. The rotation had barely started; he could always decide to shoot the little nuisance later.

"What. The. _Fek. Cheeka_?" he ground out between clenched teeth.

"It's a surprise party," she explained, a smile that was, in his opinion, far too bright for the situation gracing her lips. At his glare, the smile wavered slightly. "You know...for you?"

"Mission accomplished," he spat. "I'm kriffing surprised." He waved at the downed droid with his blaster. "Effing surprised you haven't thrown that fardling tinnie on the Junk World yet." Then, despite his best efforts, his rage swamped him. "And I'm fekking surprised you're still breathing. Fierfek, _cheeka._ Don't you have even enough _crinking _sense to effing know not to jump out at a vaping soldier? I could have _killed you_."

The smile was completely gone now, replaced by a frown. Ro jumped off the crate and planted her fists on her hips. "Now I'd be a _bombad _lousy saber jockey if I couldn't skedooch away from a measly blaster bolt."

"Without your glowsticks?" he sneered.

Ro's twin lightsabers had not fared well on Gaftikar. One had been completely destroyed when the floor of the mine shaft they'd been exploring had collapsed due to an explosion. The saber had suffered the fate they'd barely escaped, crushed beneath the falling rock with only the crystal left in tact. Her second lightsaber had been cannibalized for parts, so that Ro and Wren could effect their escape from the mine, which had been steadily filling up with toxic fumes.

She didn't have the necessary spare parts aboard the ship to complete the needed repairs, so what was left of her lightsabers was safely stored in a box beneath her bunk. And even a karking clone like Wren knew that without lightsabers, a Jedi was pretty much fekked.

Ro flushed at the reminder. "Well, if you didn't have such mono bad impulse control, then I wouldn't have to be dodging blaster bolts, would I?"

Wren felt the heat suffuse him. "If I kriffing had poor impulse control," he shouted at her, "then you wouldn't still be effing standing there!"

"I was trying to be nice!" she shouted back. "I was _trying _to throw you a party with confetti and cake and presents..."

"Stop." He held up a hand, feeling a headache come on. "Cake? _Presents_?" He didn't know which sounded more ominous.

And just like that, all the anger left Ro's face, as if wiped away with a polishing cloth, to be replaced by a beaming smile. "Yes, silly Cookie, presents." She clapped her hands together, squealing in delight and before he could stop her, she lunged for him, grabbing him by the arm. With a strength that never ceased to astound Wren, Ro hauled him after her, out of the cargo hold and into the single, narrow corridor of the ship.

He tried to resist, but even a stubborn barve like he knew the look of a fight he wouldn't be able to win. Still, pride prompted him to at least try. "What about your fekking clanker?"

"Artee?" she asked sweetly, as if she wasn't quite certain who he was talking about and wanted to make sure, for politeness' sake. "He'll be prime. High-strung nerves will get you into a mono tizzy, but after a good reboot he'll be back to his lovable, hypochondriac self."

"You talk about the tincan like it's an effing person." Her attitude was utterly incomprehensible to him, but then, Wren had so far witnessed little behavior on Ro's part that he _could _understand. The current situation was just the tip of the effing asteroid.

"Well, he does have _personality_," she retorted cheerfully. "That's five letters more than required."

He wondered if this conversation would make more sense if he slammed his head against the wall. Or hers.

"Hit the brakes."

They stopped and much to his growing horror, he realized they were standing in front of the door to _his _cabin.

"Open it," Ro urged with unrestrained excitement, jumping up and down where she stood, causing the mass of her hair to bounce. "Open it, open it."

Wren eyed the cabin's door as if it might open on Grievous and a battalion of SBDs, weighing his options. Either he complied or he ended both of their misery right here and now.

He chose the first option. He was just too much of a hard-bitten bastard to admit defeat in the face of a barvy little nuisance who didn't even quite come up to his shoulder. With a feeling of imminent doom, Wren opened the door and stepped inside the cabin, Ro hot on his heels.

_Mockingbird _was a decently sized ship and all four of the cabins, as well as the galley, were practically luxurious, compared to what Wren had been used to from Kamino and the GAR. The three cabins that acted as living-quarters were all furnished with a small desk and chair, a bunk that was almost twice as wide as the regulation issue rack Wren had slept in for most of his eleven years and a small but functional sink in one corner, as well as more storage space than Wren knew what to do with.

He'd chosen the least offensive cabin upon settling in and his first glance took in the walls and ceiling, half-dreading Ro had taken it into her head to re-decorate his living space in her own warped image. But the walls were still an innocuous panorama of a far-reaching, grassy plain and the ceiling remained a - he had to admit - breathtaking reproduction of the Churnis sector's starscape.

Wren shot a glance at Ro, who was standing behind him with her folded hands pressed against her mouth, an eager, anticipatory gleam in her eyes and in that motion caught sight of his bunk.

He stared.

His armor had been neatly laid out on the bunk, his bucket resting on his pillow as if his armor had decided to climb out of the footlocker and take a quick nap in its owner's absence.

Except, it was no longer quite _his _armor.

Instead of scuffed, charred and scraped white, the plastoid plates were covered in a black and grey camo pattern.

Breath left his body in a hiss.

"Isn't it stellar?" Ro squealed. "Do you like it? It looks _bombad _bad-_choobies, _don't it? Totally mono you, right?"

Her voice was drowned out by the buzz in his ears. Wren whirled and slammed his fist into the bulkhead next to Ro's head, causing her to flinch back.

"You. _Bitch_." He was so angry, the words came out in a low growl. "You. Fekking. Bitch." Before she could slip away, Wren grabbed her by her thin shoulders and shook her violently with every word. "How kriffing _dare _you touch my gear?"

"I-I thought..."

"You didn't effing think!" he interrupted her, giving her a final shake before forcefully pushing her away. If he kept his hands on her for one more karking second, he really would break her neck. "Get out!"

"But I..."

"Get! Out!" And he pushed her again, hard enough that she stumbled backwards out of his cabin and slammed into the corridor's wall. Ro's teal eyes had grown to the size of saucers in bewilderment and they were wet with unshed tears.

He didn't give a kriff. Wren punched the slap pad and the door _swished _shut. Then he drove his fist into the bulkhead again.

Flesh hit durasteel with a wet _smack _and searing pain shot up his arm and into his shoulder as bones ground against one another. But the pain helped to disperse the rage, drove the red swamping his vision back and gave him a foothold.

He took deep breaths, trying with all his might to hang on to his sanity and not give in to the urge to go back out there and kill that karking little Jedi bitch for daring to...

_Don't effing think about it. _

Wren leaned his forehead against the door, letting the durasteel cool his fevered skin. At his sides, his fists clenched and unclenched, too close to his holstered blaster for comfort and safety.

It had been madness for him to accept her proposal.

Not even three full days in each others company and already she'd driven him into a rampaging bloodlust. He'd kill her if he stayed on. _Fek, _he'd almost killed her down in the mine, when she'd invaded his mind with her Force-healing...

_Don't. _There was another thing he shouldn't think about, unless he wanted to burst a blood vessel.

How could someone so effing tiny be such a huge pain in his arse?

Wren exhaled sharply, feeling his self-control reestablish itself. He hated losing it like this almost as much as he hated what she'd done to his armor.

He kicked the door and turned back to his bunk, feeling marginally better prepared to inspect the damage.

The camo job, he realized upon closer inspection, was not standard regulation, though the design did resemble the pattern used by the shadow troopers - that elite cadre that consisted more of rumors than facts and who were supposedly meant to fill in the dwindling ARC ranks, though Wren had yet to see one with his own eyes. But it was obvious Ro had not adhered to the traditional GAR pattern.

Wren ran a finger over one of his greaves; stretching along one side was a smoky blotch of grey where there should have been black. And though the paint job was as monochrome as it should have been, Wren could identify more shades of black and grey in a single glance than he'd ever thought existed.

He made a sound in the back of his throat and picked up his bucket.

A good half of the plastoid plates had been destroyed in the explosion in the mine and his helmet too had turned out to be damaged beyond repair. This one was a replacement from Eyat Base's supplies, but Ro had copied his original helmet's design and the two lightning bolts ran in a jagged line from the top of his bucket over the T-shaped visor, their crimson color a dramatic contrast to the black and grey.

Wren turned the bucket over in his hands. There were three smoky-blue chevrons painted on the right side of the helmet; his new rank insignia. According to the GAR regs, such insignia were to be placed on a shoulder bell or chest plate; somewhere where the enemy couldn't immediately identify the officers from the nomcoms. Having his lieutenant's insignia on the side of his helmet wasn't just in defiance of the regs, it was a challenge to every passing sniper to take his or its best shot.

Wren made another sound, this one slightly more approving and set his helmet back down, picking up a poleyn. The plate that covered his right knee was one of the few pieces that had survived the Gaftikar venture. He turned it this way and that, brushing against the paint with the sensitive pads of his fingers. There'd been a deep scratch on this particular poleyn, a souvenir from his time on Qiilura. Like most of the 35th, he'd helped train the locals as resistance fighters and once the Seps had been defeated, he'd helped roust those same locals and boot them off the planet they'd risked their lives to defend. The woman he'd been sleeping with at the time - one of his trainees - had taken exception to that and had tried to cripple him in revenge by taking out the vulnerable knee joint. She'd underestimated the strength of plastoid armor, however, and his own reflexes. The fight had left him with a scored poleyn and her leaving on the next refugee transport with a black eye and a broken wrist.

Some troopers, when painting their armor, simply painted over the old damage, but Ro had actually incorporated the old nicks and scuffs into the overall camo design. This particular scratch was now a deep black line surrounded by three different shades of grey.

The little nuisance couldn't actually understand what those gouges and scratches meant to a trooper. She was a karking Jedi, after all. A nosy, interfering little bitch. Scratches on previously immaculate white armor couldn't be more than imperfections to her. Right? She _wouldn't _be able to see them as the badges of honor and courage that they were, the symbols of a trooper's experience and his tenacity.

Jedi didn't understand clone traditions. Didn't give a kriff. That was an effing fact.

Wren put the poleyn back in its place and took a step back, taking the armor in as a whole.

Against the dark tan of the blankets, the black and white camo pattern made the armor appear very dark, sleek and _dangerous. _

A tentative knock on the door roused him from his contemplation.

"What the fek do you want, _cheeka_?" he snapped, without turning around. He wasn't quite done being angry with her yet.

"May I come in?" The question was asked so meekly, that despite himself, Wren turned around, eyebrows raised in surprise. He'd never heard Ro speak in that tone before.

He opened the door to find the little nuisance standing on the other side, head slightly bowed with a plate in her hands. And on that plate...

Wren's nostrils flared as the thick, heavy scent of chocolate wafted up to him. He'd only had chocolate twice before in his life, but those meager tastes had been enough to hook him instantly.

Sensing his interest, Ro peeked up at him from beneath the cover of her long, unruly bangs and shyly offered him the plate on which lay half a cake, covered in a thick layer of chocolate. Atop the chocolate, in green frosting, were several Aurebesh letters: '_come oard'._

"It's your _Welcome Aboard _cake," she explained. She scuffed the toe of one shoe along the deck plates. "I figured, well, maybe we could do a fifty-fifty split and I guess you don't want to come to the galley to eat with me, since you're mad at me and all, so I thought I'd bring you your share." She smiled at him uncertainly. "Room service style, you know?"

No, he actually didn't know. The only person who'd ever brought him food had been Thrush.

In those early days of his exile to the ground-pounders, Wren had had some difficulties adjusting to the more regimented training curriculum of the regular troopers and his occasional bouts of typical ARC creativity had gotten him into a fair amount of trouble. There'd been one time, when the punishment detail assigned to him had been rigorous enough that, atop of a very strenuous day, he'd simply fallen into his sleep bunker without even taking off his wet fatigues. Three hours later - one of the longest periods he'd ever slept uninterrupted - there'd been Thrush with a fistful of protein cubes he'd smuggled out of the mess hall.

It had been a good gesture on Thrush's part, but protein cubes were _nothing _compared to cake and chocolate.

At his continued silence, Ro began to shift uneasily, her eyes flicking this way and that. "Look, Coo-_Wren,_ I-I'm sorry, 'kay? I didn't _mean _anything by it. Well, I did mean for the armor to be a stellar surprise, but I guess the stellar part just kind of fell flat." She tugged on her Padawan braid, biting her lip, looking not in the least like a Jedi at that moment, but more like a shiny waiting to be excoriated by a superior. Then the words tumbled out of her in a flood. "It's just, I heard all the other mascs talk about painting their armor and what designs they want in the base's mess hall and on the parade grounds and well, practically everywhere and it just seems like something _bombad _special, so I thought, if I give you a stellar paint job, then it would be a mono _bombad_ prime treat and just...well...make you _happy, _because I'd like to see you more on the happy, but I guess I jumped the blaster big time and now I just ruined your surprise party and got you all mad and I'm really, _really _mono sorry about that and..." She finally took a breath, letting it all out in a rush. "I can take it off," she offered in a half-whisper, looking once more down at her shoes. "The paint, I mean. If you want."

Wren regarded this slip of a girl for a very, _very _long time; long enough to cause her to squirm again like a gooberfish on the line.

He took the plate out of her hands and with a flash of hope in those bright teal eyes, she offered him a fork as well.

Wren took the fork and leaned against the doorframe, starting in on the cake. It's texture was thick and loose all at the same time, the chocolate coating melting against his tongue and lining the inside of his mouth, covering the last of the bitter taste of his anger.

"You're the biggest effing nuisance this side of the Black Nebula, _cheeka._"

She hung her head. "I know."

"You crossed the karking line."

"I know."

"That's my effing gear and you had no stanging right to touch it without my fekking permission." Which wasn't at all true. Technically, she _was _his commanding officer, not to mention a Jedi and the armor didn't really belong to him. He, like it, was GAR equipment, issued to the Jedi to be used and disposed of as they pleased. She could have put the armor through the vaping garbage disposal and he wouldn't have been able to do a fraggin' thing about it - _technically, _anyway. But he wasn't about to tell _her_ that and Ro was vigorously nodding along with his words, her eyes huge and earnest.

"I know and I promise, I won't ever do it again. I'll ask first. I promise."

"You'd _crinking _better," he snapped, jabbing his fork in her direction. Then, remembering the striking contrast between his crimson lightning bolts and the rest of the black and grey camo design and the care with which the armor's scuff marks had been incorporated, Wren gave - just a fraction of an inch. "And I'll effing do the same."

Her eyes went even wider at his concession, small though it was. He hated himself for being weak enough to be diverted from his righteous anger by cake and an - admittedly - better paint job than he could have managed, but the concession to her also appealed to his sense of fairness - what little he had of it. A trooper's gear was sacrosanct. Ro was no trooper, but he'd seen the devastation on her face when he'd handed her back what little remained of her lightsaber and he'd heard enough of the glow jockeys talk to understand that it was probably the same for them.

She'd crossed a line, but that didn't mean he had to do the same to get back at her for it.

Despite her continued contriteness, a smile was working its way back onto Ro's face and Wren, seeing it, felt a flash of vexation and reluctant admiration for the little nuisance. Nothing, not even his temper, ever seemed to keep her down for long.

"So," she asked hesitantly, "you..._like _the paint job?"

Wren ate another forkful of cake, taking his sweet time in chewing, deliberately letting her stew some more.

It wasn't until she'd started fidgeting again that he swallowed and answered her with a nonchalant shrug. "I've seen worse."

Her face brightened to sunspot intensity and with a squeal, she stepped forward, arms outstretched, her intention to hug him again clear on her face. Wren stiffened and took a step back.

"Ooops." Ro dropped her arms, clasping her hands behind her back, as if physically restraining herself, and smiled up at him sheepishly. "Sorry. I forgot." She looked down for a moment and when she met his eyes again, her face was unusually solemn. "I'm not..." she hesitated, her eyes roaming the corridor nervously. "I'm not...always so good at controlling myself. I just - I don't know - get carried away by the moment, I guess. It's not good Jedi behavior," she admitted shame-facedly, her cheeks flushing slightly at the admission, "that's why I've never had a partner before you. Not everyone likes what I do." She peered at him through the thick curtain of her hair. "But I promise I'll try to remember around you, Wren." A look of determination and pride crossed her mobile face. "And I do keep my promises."

Wren regarded her for a long moment, then glanced back at his newly painted armor, laid out neatly on his bunk. _His _armor. _His _bunk. _His _room, which Ro had told him time and again he could do with whatever he liked. He stared back down at the little Jedi. _His _partner; for now, anyway.

He'd never owned so many things before in his life.

Plate still in hand, more than half of the cake already gone, Wren shouldered past Ro and made his way to the galley.

"I'll have more of this," he told her, slightly raising his plate for her to see. "And once I have, _you _get more fekking caf, _cheeka_."

Ro whooped and raced after him, starting a lengthy - and speedy - explanation of all the many ways in which you could bake a chocolate cake and wondering loudly what variety she should try next and what occasion should be contrived for the baking.

And in-between she managed a swift squeeze of his arm, which he _only _let her get the kriff away with because killing her would have meant dropping his current forkful of cake.

* * *

From the cargo hold, there came a timid and unsteady beep as Artee's systems finished rebooting and the droid awoke from its 'faint'. The domed head swiveled back and forth and his three stumpy legs began to move up and down as they searched for traction. Finding none and realizing that he was stuck flat on his back, Artee began to shrill for Ro, demanding that his organic return and help right him_ this_ nanosecond.

* * *

_Rule #3: _Respect the fekking gear.

_Rule #4: _Ignore boundaries and take the consequences with a sunk head or smile. Apply as needed.


	3. Chapter 3: The Familial Composition

**The Familial Composition**

_Odd Ends, Dashbalar city, Ansion, Mid Rim_

_Nine years before the Battle of Geonosis..._

Shiv looked down his long, scarred and greying muzzle at his unexpected visitor. His nostrils flared and he caught the scent of tibanna gas cartridges, blaster lubricant and fire-hardened and plasma scorched _beskar'gam. _

"You've got balls the size of Nar Shaddaa, showing up like this."

Seated across from him, Jango Fett smiled, an expression that held little actual amusement. "Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment, Shiv."

Shiv grunted, sniffing the air once more. "What parts have you been straying about, Fett? You smell like an entire ocean world."

The smile turned a little harder, the corners of Fett's eyes tightened. "If you agree to my proposal, you can see for yourself. Until then..." The Mandalorian spread his hands, indicating his inability to elaborated.

Shiv sighed, feeling weariness settle into his bones. He stretched his long legs, curling the toes of his prosthetic leg. "As much as you reek of salt walter, Fett, this is starting to stink all the more of secrecy. Alright, lay it on me. What do you want?"

Fett leaned forward, the plates of his armor scraping together, the sound causing the ears atop Shiv's head to twitch and focus more firmly on the Human. To an unfamiliar observer, Shiv would have appeared calm, almost bored. But for someone familiar with Shistavanen behavior, it was obvious that he was on edge and certainly on alert. He'd allowed this Human into his den and was giving him the courtesy of his attention, but Shiv trusted Jango Fett no farther than he could throw a Hutt. The man was dangerous and dangerous men tended to arouse such suspicions in the usually affable Shistavanen. More than forty years in the army tended to do that to you.

"I have a job for you, Shiv," Fett said, his eyes intense as he studied Shiv's reaction. "For you and that terror you call a wife."

"Oh?" Shiv cocked his ears, the Shistavanen equivalent of raising his eyebrows. "I'm afraid you're a bit late, Fett. Eda and I are retired or hadn't you heard?"

"I've heard, which is exactly why I'm here. You and Eda are no longer in the Republic's pocketbook, which means you're free to place your loyalties where you wish."

Shiv took a deep breath, the action expanding his already impressive ribcage. His dark brown fur rippled and rose and he seemed to expand to almost twice his natural size, though he did not move an inch from the comfortable position he'd taken on his recliner chair.

"My loyalties," Shiv said in a half-growl, "have always been where I wanted them to be, Fett. And for the sake of my mate's carpeting, I'll not take offense at your implication that I have ever been a paid-off lackey and rip your throat out with my bare teeth."

Fett didn't flinch - Oh, he had balls alright - but he did sit back in his own chair, resettling his hands on his lap. And closer to his holstered blasters.

"I appreciate that, Shiv," Fett said drily.

Shiv grunted and cocked his head, narrowing his one remaining eye. "So? I'm assuming you're not going to leave until you've said your piece, no matter how much I growl, so get on with it. What kind of _job _are we talking about?"

"I've been hired by an independent party to train an army." Fett raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing his hard features. "I'm the man for the job, but even I can't train an entire army on my own. I need others, to act as training sergeants and I believe you and Eda could be real assets. There aren't many who've been in the business as long as you two have and lived to tell the tale."

Shiv snorted, unimpressed by being complimented by one of the most famous - and successful - bounty hunters of their time. It was a simple fact of life that covert ops was a dirty and dangerous business and very few agents survived long enough to retire. He and Eda had had to clean house quite a bit before they'd been able to disappear on this little Mid Rim world. Their retirement was paid for in blood and that made him resent Fett's intrusion all the more.

"An army," Shiv repeated, the tip of his tail twitching slightly. He didn't like the sound of that. "Who in all the moons' glory would need an army. The Republic's at peace."

Fett barked out a laugh that was as unamused as his previous smile had been. "Come now, Shiv. You of all people know what a load of bantha dung that is. A thousand years of peace." He said it as if the words were something foul and usually best flushed down the nearest 'fresher. "It's the galaxy's biggest joke. The Naboo blockade should have proven that."

Shiv folded his clawed hands before him. "Fett," he said slowly, "I hope you're about to tell me that that army is an early lifeday present for Naboo's queen, because the only other option is the Trade Federation and in that case, I _will _have to spill your blood on Eda's good carpet."

"I wasn't hired by the Neimoidians, Shiv, or Naboo."

"Then who?"

"I can't tell you."

Shiv shook his head. "That's not good enough, Fett."

The cold muzzle of a blaster pressed against the back of Fett's head. "I agree."

Fett knew better than to turn around and face his assailant. "Eda."

"Fett." Shiv's mate was a lovely vision of glorious beauty and fury, dressed in dramatic red shimmersilk and her greying hair twisted into a complex knot.

"I see marriage has mellowed you considerably," Fett observed. "Your hospitality has certainly improved."

"The carpets are new," she answered shortly. "Blood and brain matter are difficult to scrub out."

"Naturally."

"Best tell her what she wants to know, Fett," Shiv said jovially. "You know she'll get it out of you, one way or another."

"And you will not enjoy the other," Eda added.

Fett let out a sigh, as if this were all just one big inconvenience, but Shiv's sharp ears could detect the increased tempo of the bounty hunter's heartbeat and the slightest whiff of sweat in the man's body odor.

"I was hired by a man named Tyranus."

Shiv and Eda exchanged a look, Eda giving the barest shake of her head. The name meant nothing to her either.

"That's not much," Shiv told Fett.

"That's all you're getting," Fett answered. "I have a reputation to protect."

"Reputation of the hired help," Eda snapped.

"Would that be your expert opinion?" Fett challenged.

Eda's nostrils flared and Shiv quickly interfered, before she decided to forget about her carpets and shoot Fett anyway. Not that Shiv would particularly mourn the man - he'd had his run ins with Fett, mostly from opposite sides - but if Fett was involved in a job of this magnitude, then there'd be someone out there waiting for his return; and perhaps willing to come looking, should Fett fail to reappear.

"I'm guessing there are some considerable benefits involved in this job. I can't imagine you'd be interested otherwise."

Fett's eyes flashed with the first real touches of irritation. He was a man for hire, more ruthlessly mercenary than a bounty hunter had a right to be, but even Fett had his code of honor.

"The contract is for ten years," he said shortly. "And pays with more credits than you'd know what to do with." He jerked his chin at the living room, taking in the house as a whole. "You could buy half of this city within five years, if that's your fancy now."

"What's the catch?" Eda demanded. She still hadn't removed the blaster from the back of Fett's head and Shiv doubted she was considering to do so any time soon. Eda had crossed paths far more often with Fett than her mate had and there was no love lost between the two.

"You disappear." Fett wasn't one to beat around the bush. "Completely. No contact with the outside world; no trips off-world. You become _Cuy'val Dar._"

"'Those who no longer exist'," Eda translated and gave a derogatory sniff. "How poetic."

"That's quite a catch, Fett," Shiv added.

"And a lot to gain as a consequence," Fett retorted. His attention was solely focused on Shiv, but one look at his mate told Shiv that Eda was listening carefully, taught as a Corellian sand panther deciding whether or not she should strike. "Think about it, Shiv. You've complained for decades about the way the Republic runs its army. Well, now you have the chance to train men the _right _way and you'll be given whatever you need to do it. All you have to do is give up on this backwater dream and in return, you'll train the finest army this galaxy has ever seen."

It was, Shiv thought, the most passionate speech he'd ever heard from Fett.

The old wolf narrowed his one eye. _There's more in him for this than just credits. He _believes _in what he's saying. _

"I spent a lot of years waiting for this 'backwater dream'," Shiv put in. He exchanged another quick glance with Eda and this time, his mate didn't even have to twitch an elegantly arched eyebrow. One look sufficed and Shiv knew what Eda's stance on all of this was. "And _we _aren't ready on giving up on it just yet."

"Shiv..." Fett began, but Shiv raised a hand, shaking his head.

"No, Fett. You're on your own on this one." An unusual wave of foreboding swamped Shiv and he found himself leaning towards the other man, his voice a mix between entreaty and impassioned indignation. "Rings and moons, man, can't you see what a gundark's nest you've gotten yourself into? Training some secret army at a time like this, when half the systems in the Republic are ready to jump for cover and the other is reaching for their blasters? The Trade Federation blockaded _Naboo. _This is a thermal det waiting to go off."

"And you're sitting on one of the blasting caps," Eda added acidly.

For the first time, Fett turned to look at her and his control slipped just enough for the couple to catch sight of the hostility beneath. "I know what I'm doing."

"Then do it without us. Leave." And Eda underlined her order with a quick jerk of her blaster.

Fett regarded Eda for a moment, then glanced once more at Shiv. "Shiv, think about..."

"She speaks for both of us," Shiv interrupted. "And were I in your boots, I wouldn't risk overstaying my welcome."

With slow, deliberate movements, Fett rose from his chair.

Eda took a step back, giving the man room to move, but the blaster remained aimed for a killing shot.

Fett, in Shiv's opinion, was a brash, unhealthily stubborn lone wolf, but he was not stupid. Shiv and Eda were older than the Mandalorian by more than a decade - almost two, in Shiv's case - but those same decades also amounted to years of experience Fett could not hope to match. And, aged or no, Fett was outnumbered and on _their _home ground. Even the purportedly greatest bounty hunter of the galaxy wouldn't risk those odds.

"Alright." Fett heaved a sigh of real regret. "I'll leave. But I'm telling you, Shiv, you're making a mistake. We have the chance to change the galaxy."

Shiv had risen as well and he towered over both Humans. "It'll change with or without us. That's the nature of things."

Fett gave him a last, lingering look and Shiv could not quite identify the emotion in the other man's eyes. Was it disappointment or disdain?

Then the Mandalorian turned to look at Eda, but if anything, his mate's face was even more inscrutable. And then, without ever turning his back on them, Fett left; disappearing into the Ansionian night like a ghost.

Eda didn't relinquish her expert hold on the blaster until she was absolutely certain that Fett was gone. When she did lower the weapon, her carefully maintained mask of blank hostility dropped. She let out a shaky breath, the color draining from her face.

Shiv was at his mate's side in an instant, taking her slight form into his arms. She put up a token resistance - his fireworm would never surrender to anything, not even affection, without a final stand - but eventually Eda melted against his shaggy form.

"Next time," she mumbled against his chest, "I'll kill him."

"There won't be a next time," Shiv assured her. "At least, not for the next ten years." _And maybe not ever again, _he added silently. Shiv couldn't give a concrete reason for his suspicions, but something about this 'job' Fett had proposed set his teeth on edge and made his fur stand up on end. You didn't train an army unless you were willing to use it and having them trained by a man like Fett, or by people personally selected by Fett? You didn't need to be a Shistavanen to smell the trouble on the horizon.

"I don't like it," she declared. "None of it. All of it."

"You don't have to," he assured her, stroking her back until he felt the stiff muscles relaxing. "Because we're going to stay well out of it. We're retired now. Nothing going on in this galaxy has anything to do with us anymore."

* * *

_Present day..._

Eda stood in front of the transparisteel wall of the library, her arms crossed over her chest. She was peering at the street below as if the intensity of her gaze could conjure up - and incinerate in the same breath - the object of her displeasure.

"I don't like it."

From his seat on the library's plush sofa, Shiv gave an inaudible sigh. He loved his mate, he truly did, but she'd been saying the same thing for the past half hour and there was really only one response it was safe for him to give. Silence, he knew from experience, would be as damming as pointing out her constant repetitions. "I know."

Eda drummed her fingers against her arm and a tense silence settled over the library. Then: "Where is she? She's late."

Shiv glanced ceiling-wards, sending off a silent prayer for patience. "_They _are certain to get here soon."

A delicate sniff was his only response.

Several minutes passed.

Shiv twiddled his thumbs, silently counting down in his head. When he reached 106, Eda burst out, "What is she thinking? Bringing one of _them_?"

The Shistavanen looked down at his big, furred paws, his brow wrinkled. "Ro seemed quite taken with the lad," he pointed out. As a _matter_ of fact, their adoptive daughter had been downright ecstatic during her last comm call, full of news about her new partner. Shiv tended to be happy when Ro was happy, but even he had to admit to a moment of doubt when she'd mentioned just _who _her new partner was.

"_She,_" Eda said, "has a terrible history with men. And to bring home a Fett..." She let the sentence trail off, as if the consequences of such a disastrous move were too horrid to voice aloud.

Shiv, always a fair-minded man, roused himself to the clone trooper's defense. "Now, Eda, we don't even know the lad. There's no saying that he'll be like Jango Fett."

Eda turned on him, an incredulous, irritated look on her face. "He's a _clone._ A copy of the original. That is the whole point."

Shiv scratched behind his tattered ear. He couldn't really argue, mostly because he didn't actually know all that much about cloning. And he certainly didn't know any clones personally. In fact, he didn't know a single person who did. Cloning was a widely accepted practice and he knew of companies who used legions of clones as a cheap workforce. But that was the extent of his knowledge. And he'd never actually felt the urge to gather more Intel on the subject.

Shiv considered himself a generally open-minded sentient and not just because he'd married outside of his species. But he was honest enough to admit that the idea of artificially creating - _copying _- individuals deeply unsettled him. And that was not even taking into account the fact that this particular clone - and the entire Republic clone army - wore the face of a man he'd known, fought against and who'd died well over a year ago.

Perhaps this line of thinking made him a backrocket Rimmer, but he couldn't help it. And wasn't a man of his age entitled to some prejudices?

The drone of quickly approaching repulsors made his ears prick. Eda, noticing the action, whirled back to stare out the window.

"She's coming?"

_"They _are," Shiv agreed and heaved himself off of the sofa, coming to stand next to his mate at the window. He put an arm about her shoulders and instinctively, Eda leaned against his side.

They watched, together, as a groundspeeder rounded the corner.

Shiv winced, his ears flattening against his skull when the repulsors whined in protest, as the speeder took the curve at a murderous angle, crossing over onto the opposite lane as it did so.

"Ro is driving," Eda observed blandly.

Shiv, thinking of the clone trooper who likely shared the speeder, felt the first stirrings of sympathy for the lad. Hopefully this clone had a cast-durasteel stomach.

The vehicle came to a sudden stop in front of Odd Ends, then did a rapid three-point turn and drove backwards into the alley and, no doubt, the garage at the back of the house.

Shiv and Eda exchanged a look; Shiv dropping his jaw in his signature smile, the corner of Eda's lips twitching upwards.

By the time they'd made it downstairs, they could hear the shouting.

_"My driving's fine!" _

_"Fekked up, more like!" _

_"I've never been pulled over! Not diddly once!" _

_"Probably ran down the kriffing traffic clanker who_ crinking_ tried!" _

Artee shot through the front door, causing the shop's entrance bell to jingle. The astromech was whirring and chirping to himself in a droid's equivalent of a mutter, so worked up he didn't even veer violently at the sight of Eda. Instead, R3-T3 passed them both by at top speed and exited again through the shop's back door, disappearing into the yard.

Shiv and Eda exchanged another look, this one far more bewildered than the first.

The shop's door flew open again and the colorful little whirlwind that was Ro stormed inside, shouting at someone behind her.

"You'd better wash out that _poodoo-_mouth of yours, Cookie, before..."

She turned, catching sight of Eda and Shiv.

"Eda." Her face brightened to the radiance of a sun going nova. "Shiv!" With a squeal of absolute delight, Ro rushed over to them, enveloping both of her parents in an enthusiastic hug, which was returned just as heartily. "I'm _so __bombad _happy to see you. Everything been stellar on your part? Was your vacation as mono fun as promised?"

"Quite," Shiv answered her, adding an extra tight squeeze to her lithe frame. "You seem to be in good voice."

"So's the clone," Eda muttered under her breath.

Shiv shot her an admonishing look and something like contriteness crossed his mate's face. They _had _talked about proper hospitality when meeting their daughter's partner. The glimmer of good intention on his wife's face died though, the instant the clone trooper walked into Odd Ends.

"Don't kriffing walk away from me, _cheeka. _I'm not fekking done telling you what a _crinking _bad..." The man stopped as he realized he was on the receiving end of three different glowers. He cocked an eyebrow, glancing from one to the other. "Fek, so there _is _an effing family resemblance."

Indeed, there was.

Shiv thought he'd been prepared for the resemblance, but the reality hit him harder than a Hutt-load of nerfs.

_Jango Fett. _It was Fett's face staring back at him; Fett's dark eyes that regarded him cooly, almost arrogantly. That was Fett's dark eyebrow raised at Shiv in both amusement and subtle challenge.

_They even got the posture right. _The lad's feet were slightly spread, his hands dangling loosely at his sides, close to the holstered blaster slung low on his hip. Every line of his body screamed alertness and suspicion. He even wore the black and grey camo armor in Jango's manner: confident and naturally.

"Eh, Eda? Shiv?" Ro, fiddling with the triangular charm hanging off of her Padawan braid in sudden anxiety, stepped into the no-man's land between her parents and partner, looking more nervous than she had on her first date. "I'd like you to meet Wren. My new partner. Government issue and everything. Wren," she turned towards the clone, smiling and gesturing at the couple. "Meet Eda and Shiv, my folks."

No one moved. At his side, Eda was as rigid as a Woostroid statue and just as unmoving. The clone - _Wren, _Shiv mentally chided himself - looked like a man waiting for the trap to be sprung.

Ro, no doubt sensing the mounting tension and awkwardness, shot a pleading look at Shiv.

Shiv cleared his throat and hastily stepped forward, hand outstretched. "Nice to meet you, lad."

The_ lad_ grimaced and glanced down at the outstretched hand, as if wondering if he should grasp it in turn or just save them all the trouble and pull his blaster.

Ro elbowed Wren in the armored side. "Go on, Cookie," she urged. "Try the civil act. Just like we talked about."

Wren shot her a look that could have dropped a bantha from fifty meters away, a sneer working its way onto his lips. Even with his back turned, Shiv could feel the icy blast of Eda's disapproval at the gesture.

_Moons, grant me strength, _he thought. In a desperate effort to head-off an early bloodbath, Shiv quickly grasped one of Wren's hands, shaking it vigorously, half-thinking that the greater amount of vigor he applied, the less likely the man was to be skinned alive by his darling wife and made into a new pair of opera gloves.

"It's good to have you here, lad. Eda and I are looking forward to getting to know you."

Wren looked down at the hand engulfed in Shiv's big paw. "Sure," he drawled. "Whatever the fek you say."

Eda drew in a sharp, hissing breath.

"And this," Shiv continued hastily, "is my lovely wife." Shiv took the young man by the elbow, giving him a slight push forward as he did so and using the moment to exchange a quick look with Ro.

Ro was waving her hands frantically, shaping silent words with her lips too fast for Shiv to catch their meaning.

He didn't get the warning until Ro closed her eyes in defeat and he heard the distinctive rustle of shimmersilk and the sound of a sharp songsteel blade cutting the air.

"Manners," Eda hissed, "are important. Especially in this house."

The lad had incredible self-control. Wren's eyes slid down to where the tip of the songsteel dagger rested against his Adam's apple, but otherwise didn't so much as bat an eye. Indeed, he appeared to be more amused by the threat pricking the skin of his throat than alarmed.

_Ah, lad, you've got no idea what force you're dealing with. _

"I've heard that," Wren said in a laconic drawl.

If Shiv had possessed sweat-glands, he would have been dripping from his pores right about now.

_Ro's going to need a new partner before the sun sets, _he realized and wondered what sort of flimsis the GAR would need him to fill out to explain the untimely demise of this hapless trooper.

Nostrils flaring in outrage at the attitude, Eda speared Shiv with an accusing glare. "See. I told you. Just like Fett."

_That _got a reaction out of Wren that was _definitely _not amused.

It never ceased to amaze Shiv how well a Human could bristle with their distinct lack of body fur.

"I'm _nothing _like Fett, you kriffi..." Wren's snarl of outrage was cut short by a bellow - most likely more of surprise than pain, given the strength of plastoid - as Ro kicked his knee from behind.

"You _jerk,_" Ro yelled, red faced from anger and embarrassment. "Don't you dare go calling my mother names!"

"_Mother_?" Wren repeated incredulously and cast a quick glance at Eda, while rubbing his abused knee. He snorted in derision. "When did she fekking have you? While she was standing with only one fraggin' leg in the grave? I don't kriffing know much about fems, _cheeka, _but even I know a bantha past her effing expiration date when I see one."

The silence that followed was thunderous, broken only by Shiv's resigned sigh and the squeak of his prosthetic leg as he moved out of firing range.

* * *

Wren hit the back porch hard, shoulder first, the songsteel blade thudding into the wooden railing above him, missing his scalp by an inch. A second blade, smaller and thinner, but no less deadly, followed a breath behind the first. The tip of the throwing knife buried itself in the wood between his legs, dangerously close to his manhood.

"Fek!"

He looked up just in time to see two figures appear by the backdoor; one dressed in crimson and bronze shimmersilk and the other in a bright yellow dress patterned with silver stars.

Eda and Ro were the iconic picture of female fury and the combined power of their glares was enough to make the virility of every man within a twenty-meter radius shrivel up and die.

The old woman sniffed, looking down her nose at him like he was something unpleasant she'd found clinging to the bottom of her silky slippers. "Cretin," she said crisply. "Uncouth boor." And she turned in a whirl of elegant shimmersilk and walked back into the house.

"Mono jerk," Ro added and followed the old woman, slamming and locking the door shut behind her for good measure.

Wren drew a hand over his face. "Kriff. Ing. Hell."

* * *

An hour later, Shiv decided to have mercy on the lad.

The respective tempers of the two women in his life had cooled sufficiently for Shiv to deem it safe for his own hide to check up on Wren. He even went so far as to risk life and tail to snag a plate and some of the goodies Eda had prepared in advance. After all the excitement, no doubt the trooper would be hungry.

Much to his surprise, when he unlocked the backdoor, Shiv found Wren in the same spot he'd been before, back leaning against the wooden railing, idly running his fingers over the edge of the throwing knife that had nearly speared a vital part of his anatomy, courtesy of Shiv's daughter.

He looked up at the sound of Shiv's approach, but made no effort to rise or even overly acknowledge the Shistavanen's presence.

Shiv was no Jedi and certainly no Force-empath like Ro, but even he could see that the boy was in a brown study; tightly controlled anger and humiliation flickering through his eyes like lightning.

_Oh dear. _

Shiv ambled over to the clone slowly, making a show of his own frailty. Brooding or no, it was not a good idea to come across as too much of a threat to a man trained from birth to do nothing but fight. Especially when said man had just gotten his arse handed to him by a little girl and an old woman.

The low groan that escaped him as he slid down next to the clone, was, however, not at all faked. His bones no longer liked resting against hard, unforgiving surfaces. Shiv stretched out his prosthetic leg, wriggling a little until he could dangle his tail from the gaps in-between the porch's railing. Then he presented the plate of food to Wren.

"Hungry?" he asked. "It's good."

Wren glanced over the offering and Shiv saw a curious mix of emotions cross the young man's face. Derision, anger, but also something that might have been shame and perhaps a touch of longing.

"I'll pass," he said tightly.

Shiv cocked his ears. "You sure? I've never heard a man pass on my wife's cooking."

Wren's lips thinned and he pointedly looked away.

"Alright. We can save it for later." Shiv put the plate down between them and settled back against the railing, letting the silence stretch. Wren seemed determined to look anywhere but at Shiv and Shiv took the opportunity to study the clone's countenance more closely.

Fett seemed to stare back at him from Wren's closed face, but now that the initial shock over the resemblance had passed and he was looking more closely, Shiv noticed some definite differences between Wren and his..._What_? Donor? Template? _Father? _

_A question best left for other days. _

The point was, Eda had been wrong. Wren was not a carbon copy of the original, at least, not exactly. The features were all there, but time and experience had put quite a different stamp on them.

For one, Fett had never been quite that tall, nor as broad in the shoulder and chest. And even with the armor on, Shiv could tell this lad had more muscle on him.

Fett's body had been marked by a hard childhood, malnutrition and the endless, brutal years he'd spent as a slave.

It was obvious from Wren's built that he'd spent his life eating right and exercising his body until it was a finely tuned machine. The trooper exuded good health and vitality, enough so to make an old wolf like him almost jealous.

_But there's the same hardness around the mouth and the same jaded look in his eyes._ Whatever the differences, Wren and Fett did have one thing in common for sure: bitter experiences and memories.

_Though even Fett had a tad more tact than this pup. _Thinking of Fett and his last encounter with the man, Shiv chuckled, then broke into whoops of laughter, slapping his durasteel knee as he did so.

Wren's head whipped about at the sound, the brooding look on his face replaced by one of irritation.

"What?" he asked, in a tone so harsh that it turned the question into a demand.

"You," Shiv said, pointing one finger-claw at the clone, then howling with laughter again. "You certainly know how to make a first impression."

Now the poor pup appeared to be just as confused as he was irritated. "Kriff. So is the insanity genetic or just plain effing contagious?"

Shiv shook his head, wheezing with laughter and clapped the lad companionably on the shoulder. "Forgive an old wolf," he said, wiping a tear away from his one remaining eye. "The past just caught up with me."

Wren frowned, clearly not understanding and Shiv, dropping his jaw in a Shistavanen smile that exposed a row of long, white fangs, deigned to explain. "I remembered a different occasion on which a man such as yourself walked into my den and my love threatened to kick him out in small, convenient pieces. Fett though," and the smile widened to frightening proportions, "had the sense or lacked the guts to force Eda to make good on her threat. I'm still trying to decide which." He slapped Wren's shoulder again, rocking the trooper slightly, despite his sturdy frame. "My mate's a feisty little fireworm and there aren't many who dare to fan the flames. I'm not sure if that little display back there makes you a brave man or a dead wet walking."

He peered thoughtfully at Wren's face, which had grown darker by the second. Angrily, the clone shrugged off Shiv's big hand, standing abruptly. "I'll tell you the same kriffing thing I told that effing harpy of yours," he snarled down at the still seated Shiv. "I am. Fekking. _Nothing._ Like Fett."

Shiv regarded the Human for a few long seconds, then slowly got to his feet as well, all laughter gone from his usually affable face.

"No," he said, slowly. "You're not. For one, Fett had enough manners and common sense not to insult someone in their own home." He thought about that for a bit, then amended, "Or if he did, he had the grace to at least pretend like he was sorry afterwards."

Wren looked away, leaning his elbows on the porch's railing. The lad was back to brooding.

Shiv sighed, wondering what in all the moon's bright blazes Ro saw in this snarling pup. The other fellows she'd brought home hadn't been nearly as moody or suicidal. And that mouth of his. He'd better clean up his act if he was going to become a permanent fixture in Ro's life, or else he'd find himself on the receiving end of liquid soap and Eda's unforgiving hand.

_If _he stayed, that was. And given Ro's reaction to his unflattering first encounter with her family, that prospect was looking rather dubious. It was a rare occasion indeed to see Ro's wrath on full display and the consequences were not to be taken likely.

Shiv looked from Wren to the house, feeling sorry about this whole darn mess. Ro had been so excited about finally having a partner and she'd sounded confident over the holo-transmitter about this one's staying-power. She'd be crushed if she let anger guide her decisions now. Maybe not right this instant, but certainly once Wren was over the horizon. He'd better try and smooth some of the friction before decisions were made that could not be taken back later on.

"Perhaps," Shiv suggested as casually as he could, "you should meander back in there and apologize. Ro will forgive and it would go a long ways to mollifying Eda. She still won't like you, mind," he added admonishingly, "but she mainly wants Ro happy and if Ro's happy with you, then Eda will refrain from using you for target practice." He nodded at the songsteel blade still sticking out of the railing.

Wren glanced at it, sneered and turned his attention back to the tree that dominated the inner courtyard. It was in full bloom and the afternoon air was thick and sweet with the scent of its blossoms.

Shiv waited a while, but Wren made no move towards the door. His tail lashed out in irritation. "Rings and moons," he muttered, "you cannot be _that _proud."

But the lad was and a single glance at his closed face proved that.

"Now _that_," Shiv said, poking his finger-claw into the clone's bicep, "makes you like Fett."

This time, Shiv was prepared for the rush of rage coming his way.

Before Wren could do more than snarl, Shiv had clamped down on the back of his neck with a vice-like grip. Flexing powerful muscles, Shiv slammed Wren back down onto the railing.

The lad struggled, - Shiv had expected no less - cursing up a foul storm that Shiv hoped to all heavens Eda couldn't hear, but even a strong young man like Wren didn't stand a chance against a Shistavanen's pure muscle mass.

And it didn't take Wren too long to figure out that fact either.

Breathing hard, his struggles slowly abated, until he lay flat against the railing, hands gripping the wood hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

Shiv cocked his head, looking at the lad with the mild curiosity of a veteran parent of a thousand temper tantrums. He _had, _after all, trained recruits for the military for several decades.

"You done yet, lad?"

"Fek off," Wren snarled, good enough to put any wolf to shame.

"Uh-huh. You know, I had a squadmate once; a Wookiee by the name of Freyyar. Smart as a whip she was and one of the best heavy gunners I ever knew. But she had a temper; a bad one."

"I'm not in the effing mood for some kriffing bed-time story."

Shiv decided to ignore the interruption. "That temper of hers, it kept getting her into trouble until she was declared an outcast and banished from Kashyyyk." He was listening now; Shiv could practically smell the attention Wren was paying the words. "She tried working on it," Shiv continued and felt the old nostalgia settle into his bones as he remembered Freyyar, smashing a sabacc table to pieces after losing a game, scaring the attending waitress into heart-palpatations. She'd been sorry afterwards, but regret after the fact did not tend to erase the past and it had been only one of many such similar incidents. "Freyyar never could get a handle on her temper." Shiv sighed. "Until the day it got her killed. She lost her head during an op and as a result, got herself shot by a small time smuggler not even worth the flimsi work it would have taken to run him in."

Wren's breathing had calmed, but it still rang loudly in Shiv's ears; evidence of the trooper's own continued battle with his temper.

"Are you getting what I'm trying to say here, lad?"

"Yes." The word came out through clenched teeth.

"Good." Shiv let go of his neck and Wren immediately straightened, taking three cautious steps back and revealing Ro's slim throwing-knife in his right hand. He made no effort to bring the knife into an attack position, but his grip on the hilt was firm.

_Like a pup baring his teeth at the big bad wolf, _Shiv thought with some amusement.

"You need to work on your self-control, lad."

Wren narrowed his eyes at Shiv, but this time he managed to fight down the fit of anger. He didn't answer, but Shiv noticed the way his face tightened and the slow movement of his left thumb over his knuckles.

_Too proud to admit it, but he knows I'm right._

To demonstrate that the confrontational part of the evening was over, Shiv leaned back against the railing, deliberately putting himself into an awkward position, should it come to another fight. Wren's eyes flickered, noting the movement.

"I'm just pointing it out," Shiv went on affably, jerking his head towards the house, "because there are tempers in there that I wouldn't want to risk provoking, if I were you. _That_," and he pointed at the knife in Wren's hand and Eda's songsteel blade still stuck in the railing, "is my girls being vexed. You don't want to see what they can do when they get _really _angry. My Eda's been known to frighten gundarks."

The scarred corner of Wren's lip twitched and he glanced quickly at the songsteel blade. "The old bat's fast," he conceded.

Shiv chuckled. "Lad, you've got no idea. Didn't Ro warn you in the least?"

Chagrin briefly flooded Wren's face and he looked away from Shiv. "She tried," he admitted grudgingly.

_And you didn't believe her. Or downright weren't listening. _

Shiv idly scratched behind his tattered ear. "Well, you're in luck. Ro's a happy little bit in general and she'll calm down quick enough and Eda will probably let you back into the house if Ro puts in a good word for you. Though I'll tell you right now, it'll be a warm day on Hoth before my mate'll forget and forgive this little episode. An apology would pave the way, however."

Wren crossed his arms over his chest, a sullen and stubborn expression crossing his face.

"I don't apologize."

Shiv let out a deep breath, trying very hard not to introduce his head - or the trooper's - to the house's wall.

_Of all the milking traits Fett had to pass along, he just had to go ahead and give this one a double dose of pride._

Alright, time to try another exit strategy out of this mess.

"Sometimes," Shiv said slowly, raking his claws along the wooden railing, "a small gesture can go a long ways. If you don't want to say you're sorry, perhaps you could do something to prove to my girls that you're perhaps only half the bastard that you come across as."

Much to his surprise, that comment garnered a smile from Wren, along with a snort that might have been the first stirrings of real laughter. The gesture changed his entire appearance from angry and sullen to rakish and surprisingly boyish.

It lasted only for a few seconds, but having caught the change, Shiv found he felt better about the lad than he had before. He'd seen worse characters in his life and the Force alone knew he'd had to drill through terrible character flaws, back when he was still training recruits. There was some good raw material in the pup, Shiv thought, once you got past the bared teeth and raised hackles and knocked him arse-over-tail a few times.

"Well, just think over what I said," he told the trooper, striving for the kindly, well-meaning tone he'd used on the few occasions his pups had sought some advice from their sire. "A little give can go a long way. It's just plain good tactics."

Someone cleared their throat and Shiv and Wren turned to see Ro standing in the doorway.

His daughter ran one hand over the skirt of her dress, smoothing out a few wrinkles in the bright yellow material. "Shiv," she said, without glancing in Wren's direction, "Eda says she would like some music now. Do you want to come to the library?"

Shiv slanted a quick look at Wren, but his expression had grown closed and guarded once more.

"I'd like that," Shiv said, straightening until his spine popped. He crooked one clawed finger at Wren. "Come along, lad, you're in for a treat."

Both young people looked startled at his invitation.

"Well?" Shiv looked expectantly from one to the other.

Ro shot a doubtful glance at Wren from beneath tousled bangs.

Wren hesitated and Shiv thought he could smell the first onsets of slight panic on the lad. His heart had certainly accelerated a few beats. Wren, it would appear, was treading new, unexplored waters and was only just now realizing he might be in too deep.

But before Shiv could come to his rescue, the moment of indecision passed and Wren, giving himself a slight jerk, walked over to Ro.

The little Jedi watched him, first warily then in astonished delight as Wren showed her the throwing-knife he still held. The trooper tossed the knife into the air, flipping it end-over-end with a deft twist of his wrist and caught the blade easily, proffering it to Ro hilt first.

"You've got kriffing good aim, _cheeka_," he told her solemnly. "The old bi..." he stopped, glanced at Shiv who cocked an ear at him, then changed what he'd been about to say. "_Eda_ does as well."

Ro looked from him to the knife, her face taking on that thoughtful, slightly spaced-out expression she tended to wear when she was sensing something through the Force.

The depth of Wren's good intentions perhaps?

Shiv didn't know and apparently neither did Wren, for both men waited tensely for Ro to come to a decision.

She plucked the knife out of Wren's hand, sliding it back up the sleeve of her dress and securing it in the arm sheath. She gave Wren another long, thoughtful look, then went back into Odd Ends.

Wren stared after her, then shot Shiv a quick, questioning look, clearly not used to the silent treatment and uncertain what to make of it.

Shiv slapped his back enthusiastically, the gesture sending Wren over the threshold.

"Well done, lad," Shiv told him, the smile back on his face. "Now remember, the fight you walk away from is a victory and it's the duty of every soldier to do what he can to achieve that victory." The old Shistavanen looked about, but Eda must already be upstairs. He leaned closer to Wren, whispering in a conspiratorial tone. "So if you want to take home the prize and enjoy the spoils, I'd suggest rolling on your back and wagging your tail. The fems_ love_ that."

Wren snorted, rolling his eyes. "Thermal, the whole kriffing lot of them."


	4. Chapter 4: The Familial Composition II

**The Familial Composition – Part II**

_Odd Ends, Dashbalar city, Ansion, Mid Rim_

_The start of the Clone Wars..._

It was a long and tense day, following a long and tense night.

Shiv was busy going through every contact he still had in the Republic military, trying to find out details - and if there even _were _details to be found out.

Rumors were circulating hard and fast, detailed and in quantities large enough to agitate even two experienced and retired former agents such as Shiv and Eda. But so far, all Shiv was getting for his efforts was a lot of static from Coruscant. Not knowing was almost as bad as the waiting.

Ro was wandering through the house like a small, pale ghost, clutching a comlink in one fist as if it were the only thing standing between her and drowning in Doruuma's seas. She hadn't said much since waking the house in the middle of the night with her screams. She also hadn't been able to add more than what she'd stammered out originally, as she'd desperately clung to Eda.

Something terrible had happened far away. Many Jedi were dead, the Force was in turmoil and somewhere in the center of that storm was her older brother, Garett.

Ro had been trying to contact the Temple on and off ever since, but if anything, she was making even less headway than Shiv. The Temple wasn't even bothering to acknowledge Ro's growingly desperate messages, while Shiv at least was reaping a polite, but firm, '_classified_' for his efforts.

Jedi Master Djinn Altis, whom Ro had called sometime around dawn, hadn't been able to provide them with any further Intel either, except to confirm that what Ro had felt wasn't just a particularly bad nightmare. The entire Altisian sect was in an uproar and the Temple was ignoring Altis' attempts at communication as much as they were ignoring Ro's.

Something very bad had indeed happened and it must have caused the Jedi to mobilize in great force, or why else would there be no one at the Temple who could - or _would _- speak to Ro and Altis. _  
_

Eda, for her part, was doing nothing except watching the flatscreen in the living room. Ensconced in one of the big chairs, her hazel eyes were fixed on the HNE news feed. She had contacts of her own which she could have called up and pressed for information. No doubt her sources, members of the fringe and the seedy underworld, would have far fewer scruples in discussing whatever the Jedi and higher Republic officials did _not _want talked about until the official story was aired. But Eda already had her suspicions and though she hated herself for it, she did not want those suspicions confirmed until absolutely necessary.

Since the Trade Federation's blockade of Naboo, certain signs had been growing steadily stronger and Eda feared that the wave of dissent that had been steadily growing in the Republic had finally come crashing down.

Eda looked away from the flatscreen as a sniffle announced Ro's return to the living room.

The girl's eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep and crying, her face pale and drawn. "Anything?" she asked, hope and dread mixing equally in her voice.

Eda shook her head, her hands flicking disgustedly at the screen. "Prattle," she declared. "More wildfires on Nothoiin. Pirate attacks on the Corellian Run. A senator suicided."

Ro wasn't listening, but fiddling with the comlink she hadn't relinquished since late last night.

Eda went over to settle on the armrest of Ro's chair, putting one arm over the girl's shoulders. "Still no word from the Temple?"

"No and nothing from Garett either." Ro looked up at the older woman and her teal eyes were haunted. "It's not just that he isn't answering my commos, Eda. He's totally shut me out. I can't sense anything through our bond; not if he's alright, or injured or...or..." Tears began to well up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks in fat drops. Using the sleeve of her robe, Eda wiped the tears away.

"There, there," she told the girl, giving her shoulders an extra hard squeeze. "Your brother is a powerful Jedi. Whatever is happening, he'll be fine."

"But so was Master Coleman Trebor!" Ro cried, extracting herself from Eda's embrace to look the older woman in the eye. "He was a Jedi Master _and _a member of the Council and I felt him _die_! He's dead, Eda, just like Tan Yuster and Galdos Stouff and...and Makare Dai and I didn't even _like _Makare."

"Hush," Eda ordered gently, taking the girl back into her arms. She'd heard this list of the dead before and according to Ro, there were many, _many _other names on that list.

Altis had also felt many former friends and acquaintances from his Temple days die suddenly and violently, along with many others who were notJedi. Altis hadn't been able to name specific numbers, but he had, tentatively and with a heavy heart, postulated that well over five thousand beings had lost their lives in a single bloody rotation.

Five thousand dead; possibly more. With numbers like that, who needed sources to tell you what had happened? Or what was going to happen in the immediate future.

Eda pressed Ro harder against her, feeling the little Jedi tremble. She was careful to keep her own concerns from the girl and for once, the Force was shouting loudly enough to deafen Ro to the feelings of those in her immediate vicinity. Whether that was a blessing or a curse, Eda didn't know.

"Eda?" Shiv walked into the living room, his gait heavy, his shoulders slumped. One look at her spouse confirmed all of Eda's fears.

"It's happened, hasn't it." It was a resigned statement rather than a question.

Shiv didn't answer immediately, just nodded towards the flatscreen. "The announcement will be aired in three minutes. Mattes just confirmed."

Ro wiped at her eyes, looking from one to the other. "Confirmed what?" she wanted to know. "Eda? Shiv? What's going on? What do you know?"

Eda brushed strands of pale blond hair out of Ro's face, clucking, as was her habit, over the unruly state of the girl's long bangs. "It's just guess work," she told Ro, but the girl wasn't having any of it.

Her brow furrowed and her nose scrunched up as worry and grief was momentarily displaced by suspicion. "You and Shiv don't guess," she told Eda, shooting a look at Shiv as well. "You _do _know something," she added accusingly.

"All we've got are rumors, little bit," Shiv tried to soothe. "We can make an educated guess, but..."

He was interrupted by a dull tone from the flatscreen.

Three sets of eyes focused on the flatscreen as the brightly smiling newscaster was replaced by the sombre, wrinkled face of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. Dressed in grey and black robes, Palpatine looked out at them from sunken eyes; his expression grave, his hands folded demurely before him. The usually grand backdrop of the Chancellor's suite of offices was today cast in shadows and mooted lighting.

Eda and Shiv had time to exchange a single, fatalistic glance, before the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic began his first wartime address to his people.

_"Citizens of the Republic, it is with a grave heart that I address you know, in this dire hour. For the first time in a thousand years our great Republic is at war." _

Ro drew in a sharp breath.

_"Over and over again we have tried to find a peaceful way out of the differences between ourselves and the Confederacy of Independent Systems. But it has been in vain. We have been forced into a conflict. This conflict is to be fought not for the sake of territory, but for the very principle for which this Republic stands: freedom and democracy and the strength to stand against tyranny and fear. The first strike has already been dealt on distant Geonosis, where the Separatist forces have crossed the final line and went against the rule of democracy by lashing out against the Jedi Order; the very defenders of the Republic. It was only with great sacrifice on the part of our brave Jedi and our new clone forces that we managed to prevail..." _

"Clone forces?" Ro looked from Eda to Shiv, confused. "What's he talking on about? What clone forces?"

But neither Eda nor Shiv answered her; both were riveted to the flatscreen.

Palpatine's figure had been replaced by a view of Coruscant, where massive, wedge-shaped Star Destroyers were lifting into the air, while others were being boarded by ranks upon ranks of white-armored figures.

Eda felt her heart seize up, then slide all the way down to her slippers. The camdroids had zoomed in on the mass of soldiers, revealing T-shaped visors on familiar helmets. _Very _familiar.

The armor. Those helmets.

And just like that the pieces fell into place for Eda.

_"The contract is for ten years."_ That's what Fett had told them and now, _ten years _after the blockade of Naboo, which had sparked the Separatist crisis in the first place, the Republic and the CIS were at war.

_Jango Fett. _

Eda wasn't aware she'd been holding her breath until Ro gently touched her arm. "Eda?" The worried, pinched look was back on Ro's face. "Your Force-aura just did a mono strange skeedooch. What's going on?" She directed this question at Shiv as well.

Eda shot a quick glance at Shiv.

Her spouse looked like a gundark struck between the eyes with a rock; not hard enough to stun, but certainly hard enough to get his blood pressure up.

"Shiv..." Eda started, but her spouse interrupted her with a snarl of breath-taking ferocity, causing her and Ro to flinch back instictively.

"That son of a randy, yapping _bitch_!"

"Shiv." Eda stood, trying to calm her spouse, but he shook her off with another snarl, his lips peeled back to reveal all of his fangs.

"He sat here - _Right. Here! _- and he dared to look me in the eye and offer me a _job _that was meant to lead the Republic to _war_."

Ro had cringed back into the corner of her seat, her eyes wide with astonishment. She had _never _seen Shiv in such a murderous rage.

"Shiv. Calm down. He's not worth it."

But Shiv wasn't listening. "I should have killed him," he growled. "I should have killed him then. Vape it, I should have let Montross kill him on Ord Cestus."

"Who are you talking about?" Ro asked timidly.

"Jango Fett," Shiv said, the name almost disappearing in a feral growl.

"He asked us to help train an army," Eda explained, while she pulled Shiv back down onto a chair. "_That _army, apparently." She pointed at the flatscreen, where the scene had changed once more to display a wide, red desert, dotted with lines of soldiers in gleaming white armor, clearly displaying the familiar Mandalorian lines.

"He knew what was coming." Shiv clenched his hands so hard he was running the danger of piercing his palms with his claws. "He knew what that army was for, what was on the horizon and he didn't have the decency to _tell __us_."

Eda took his hands in hers. It was useless to point out to him now that they too had suspected war was looming. Nor did she mention that Fett would have never revealed more details of his assignment than he had that day, nine years ago, even if they'd hung him up on his heels over a gundark's nest. Shiv was not in a mood to listen and Eda was not in a mood to temper his anger.

Let Shiv growl and snap at Fett's heels. The man deserved it.

Eda glanced once more at the scene on the flatscreen and something else caught her attention. The soldiers on the screen were..._strange. _She first narrowed her eyes, then they widened as she recognized what had bothered her. The soldiers, marching in neat lines over broken rocks and dunes of red sand, were all of the same height. The _exact _same height. And the manner in which they moved; the perfect synchronicity with which they boarded the waiting the cruisers...

Palpatine had called them a clone army.

Eda felt a shiver run down her spine as conclusions she did not like settled into the pit of her stomach like a chunk of Hoth ice. She was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to see the faces beneath those white, anonymous helmets.

Or would it be just a single, familiar face?

_Fett. What have you helped set in motion? _

* * *

_Present day..._

"I cannot _believe _he did that." Ro slammed the last of her suitcases onto the bed, practically breathing fire.

Eda, calm on the outside, but just as irritated as Ro on the inside, busied herself by neatly folding laundry and putting it back into the large wardrobe.

"I mean, I _told _him to behave. I _told _him how you two are like the most stellar parents in the galaxy and starting to cuss on first meeting just doesn't bring across the right impression _and _I told him how important this was to me." Ro shut the suitcase with a bang. "Urgh! Why does he have to be such a...a...a mono _bombad _Kowakian monkey-lizard of a jerk?" With a huff, she dropped onto the bed beside the suitcase, arms crossed over her thin chest and pouting.

Eda sniffed. "He's a man," she said simply.

Ro glanced at the older woman from beneath her bangs. "Shiv's not like that," she protested.

The former mercenary gave the girl a pitying look. "You think he came that way?" she asked derisively. "Shiv is a male. He was thoughtless. He was rude. He was definitely uncouth." She rolled her eyes at some private memory. "It took a lot of training to drill proper manners into the old wolf. I took plenty of fur off his hide."

"So, I shouldn't have been so hard on Cookie?" Ro asked, uncertainty starting to creep in. "On account of that he's a man and can't know any better?" She was already starting to feel bad about what had happened. Alright, so maybe she _didn't _feel galactically bad for kicking him out on his _choobies. _He _had _been acting like a mono exhaust port. And calling her _mother _all those bad things? _Bombad _unacceptable. She did, however, feel bad about losing her temper. Sort of.

_Might as well be honest about it, Ro. What truly gets under your skin is that you _knew _he was good at irking tempers and you still walked forehead first into his bad vibes. _

Eda gave Ro a hard look. "You did right," she told her daughter. "Such behavior cannot be tolerated. It sets a dangerous precedence."

Ro frowned, glancing at the older woman. "You talk like he's a puppy needing to be house-trained."

"Of course," Eda said calmly, putting away the last of the clothes and eyeing the bag of dirty laundry. "He is a man," she repeated.

Ro smothered a giggle, a sudden image of Wren coming to mind with a tail and puppy ears, being scolded by Eda, waving a rolled-up piece of flimsi threateningly. But the laughter died almost as soon as it came.

_Puppy, indeed, _she thought sourly. _Cookie has more teeth than a flock of kyren. _And he was almost casual in his use of them.

Her sour mood restored, Ro kicked her legs against the edge of her bed. "Maybe this whole partner thing wasn't so stellar a think," she finally voiced the fear that had been gnawing at her for the past three days. "I mean, all we've done since jetting Gaftikar is argue. Loudly." She grimaced. "And making Artee miserable. We've been doing a lot of that as well."

"Then dump him," Eda said cooly. "There are plenty more where he came from. Get one with manners."

"There's no one like Cookie," Ro said, surprised at the _hostility _she sensed from Eda. Alright, so Wren had made the top ten galactically worst first impressions, but cussing out his hostess wasn't exactly cause for planning the best spot to dump his body. Even for Eda that was a bit extreme. "He does have his good sides," she offered, almost meekly.

Eda turned steely eyes on Ro, pointing a stern finger at the girl. "I know his type," she said sharply. "Rude. Crude. Out only for himself. He will leave you cut and bleeding, as soon as something better comes along." She looked out of Ro's bedroom window, her gaze distant. "Leave him," she said again. "Put him back where you found him. Men like that do not deserve better. All they bring is trouble."

The Force around Eda had turned into ice, sharp and broken and utterly untouchable.

Ro jumped off the bed and went over to the older woman, gently touching the edge of her bronze and red shimmersilk sleeve. "Eda, are we still talking about Wren?"

Eda jerked herself out of her thoughts, frowning down at the girl, before waving the concerns aside. "I knew the original," she said simply. "Why should the copy of the man be any different." She jabbed her carefully manicured finger into Ro's chest. "You listen to me. Jango Fett has never brought anything but unhappiness. To his family. His clan. His people. His lovers. And the galaxy. _That's _the kind of man he was. _That's _the kind of man _he _is," and she waved a hand in the direction of the garden and Wren's impromptu exile.

Ro twisted a lock of hair around one finger, thinking it over. What Eda had said made her feel uncomfortable, but she knew better than to simply dismiss anything the other woman said.

_Nothing but unhappiness. _Wren certainly had excelled in making everyone at Eyat Command Base unhappy. And there'd been some rather..._harsh _moments between them down in the mine.

"He watched my back in a _bombad _bad sitch," she said aloud. "I wouldn't have made it out alive if it weren't for Wren."

Eda turned towards Ro, her almond-shaped eyes widening in surprise, while the Force around her shivered under the tremors of her _concern _for Ro. Gently, Eda took Ro's chin in her hands, turning her face this way and that, scrutinizing her carefully for the first time since Ro's arrival. Eda's thumb traced over a thin, fading line on her cheek; all that was left of a rather uncomfortably close encounter between Ro and three spider droids.

"This was a close one," Eda observed. Her voice was controlled, but her Force-aura was not.

Ro had always likened Eda to a fine songsteel sword, beautiful as well as deadly. Right now, that same songsteel sword was peeking out of its sheath, ready to be drawn in defense of someone she cared for.

"It's a long chinwag," Ro admitted with a sigh, feeling the strain of those last few days settle heavily onto her shoulders. It hadn't really caught up with her yet, all that had happened, but once it did, Ro had no doubt she'd have herself a good, long cry. Maybe she should pack up a bag and go camp out on the plains for a night or two, let herself be soothed by the wind and the endless canopy of stars.

_Wonder if Cookie would like that, too? _

Eda must have caught on to her thoughts, because she released Ro, giving her cheek an affectionate tap.

"We'll talk later," she told the girl. The older woman eyed the bags still waiting to be unpacked and flicked her fingers in an elegant gesture of dismissal. "These can wait," she declared. "For now, music is in order I believe."

Ro perked up at that. "Want me to snatch my cello?"

A smile curved Eda's shapely lips. "Yes." She looked about the room, her smile turning into a frown. "And you can grab Shiv while you're at it. Lazy wolf," she muttered as she exited Ro's room and made her way to the library. "Always gone when you need him to work."

Ro snickered, then quickly checked the Force to see where Shiv had hid himself away. Her adoptive father had beaten a rather hasty retreat after Eda and Ro had kicked Wren out of the house, no doubt sensing that the two females were not kindly inclined towards his gender at the moment.

Much to her surprise, Shiv wasn't in his workshop, as she'd half-suspected. His affable presence was parked right next to the crackling, lightning like Force-aura of Wren.

Ro frowned, walking down the stairs, back into the shop and towards the backdoor.

"...little give can go a long way," she heard Shiv say. "It's just plain good tactics."

She cleared her throat, causing the two men to turn about sharply. Neither, apparently, had heard her coming.

Feeling suddenly awkward, Ro glanced down her bright yellow dress, smoothing a wrinkle in the silver star-patterend material. _Why should I be feeling like the awkward one? _she wondered. I _didn't do anything wrong._

"Shiv," she said, deliberately not looking at Wren, "Eda says she would like some music now. Do you want to come to the library?"

_Curiosity _flashed through Wren, suppressed almost the instant it flared up, but it caught Ro's attention.

"I'd like that," Shiv said amiably and straightened, his spine popping loudly. Then, much to Ro's surprise, the old Shistavanen crooked a finger at Wren in a clear invitation. "Come along, lad, you're in for a treat."

Both Wren and Ro stared at Shiv, startled. In addition to her surprise, Ro felt an uncomfortable flush of resentment. Shiv was _her _father. He should be on _her _side, not making nice with the jerk who insulted his daughter and wife.

Almost immediately, Ro felt bad for being so petty. Of course Shiv would make friends with Wren; that was just the kind of person he was. And that _was _what Ro had been hoping for in the first place.

She was acting like a silly youngling, not a grown woman and Jedi.

"Well?" Shiv asked, when the silence had stretched into something uncomfortable.

Ro shot a doubtful glance at Wren from beneath tousled bangs. She might be sorry for her flash of irritation, but she wasn't quite ready to forgive. It wasn't up to her to be the one to constantly absolve Wren for his behavior. That just wasn't fair.

Wren visibly hesitated and Ro thought she sensed a brief flutter of...

She blinked. Had Wren actually displayed..._fear _just now? He hadn't so much as batted an eye in Shenio's mine, outnumbered by droids and a murderous sociopath. Why would he be afraid now, faced with nothing more threatening than an invitation to listen to some music?

Then that brief flutter of emotion was squashed as Wren regained his composure and walked towards her.

Ro watched him, wary, as Wren revealed the knife she'd thrown at him. What now? Would he retaliated by trying to take a swing at her with her own throwing-knife?

_Anticipation _on Wren's part was her only warning.

With a skillful flick of the wrist that left Ro wide-eyed with astonishment, Wren flipped the knife, catching it easily and handing it back to her, hilt first.

"You've got kriffing good aim, _cheeka_," he told her solemnly. "The old bi..." he stopped, glanced at Shiv and changed what he'd been about to say. "_Eda_ does as well."

Ro didn't take the proffered knife. Instead, she cocked her head at Wren, testing the Force around the trooper.

The crackling lightning that was his natural _anger _had calmed down to a bare flicker. He was still irritated with her and Eda, but Ro sensed that was more from hurt pride than real anger at their actions. Beneath the lightning shield was...

_Sincerity. _Wren meant what he said, but there was not a smidgen of _remorse _in him. He wasn't sorry about being rude, not in the least.

Ro narrowed her eyes. Not sorry, but there was something else...something hidden deeper beneath the anger.

_Acknowledgement. Recognition. Confusion. _

It didn't mollify Ro, but she plucked the knife out of Wren's hand and pushed it back into the arm sheath, hidden beneath her dress' sleeve. She shot Wren another long, scrutinizing look. Wren wasn't sorry for what he'd said, but he knew he'd done something wrong. He just didn't understand _what _he'd done exactly that was so wrong.

She wasn't ready to forgive just yet, but she was willing to bend just a little. He _had _managed to unclench enough to actually compliment her and Eda, after all.

_Gold star for effort, Cookie, _Ro thought as she turned back into Odd Ends. _But you're not out of the frying pan just yet._

* * *

Wren followed Shiv up the stairs, taking careful inventory of his surroundings.

He'd noted upon arrival the closest exit and entry points; all the nooks and crannies from which an ambush could be sprung and it had not escaped his notice that the three-story tall, square-shaped house had been built as a near impenetrable fortress. The windows were placed at strategic intervals, giving a clear view of all possible approach vectors. Corridors were straight, providing no cover for an intruder and there were many stairs, which automatically forced an enemy to advance fully exposed to any sniper stationed on an upper landing.

But now, he was just _looking. _

Wren had never been in a civilian home that was so _clean _and _orderly._

He _had _been in civilian houses before, but those had all borne the marks of war: holes blasted into roofs and walls by heavy artillery, char marks from blaster fire, the simple wear and care of poverty. It occurred to Wren that this was literally the first time he'd set foot on a planet not touched by war. He didn't count his brief visits to the barracks on Coruscant. The clones had been kept well apart from the civilian population and the barracks were so isolated from the rest of the city planet, they might as well have been located on one of the moons. Being on Coruscant was no different than bunking down at the Eyat Command Base.

He brushed the tips of his fingers against the polished wooden walls as he trailed after Shiv, listening to the hushed sound his boots made on the thick carpet.

Everything in this house breathed comfort, but there was also a pleasant sense of familiarity that somewhat dulled the edges of his wariness. It was important to be on the alert in unfamiliar surroundings. You never could tell where an enemy might be lurking, waiting to cut your throat. But there were touches of the military life scattered throughout the house that lessened the alien sense of his surroundings and acted as subtle reassurances to Wren that he was in somewhat friendly territory.

And his host was the most familiar among those martial relics.

Wren glanced at Shiv's broad back.

Ro had dashed on ahead, muttering something about needing to get everything ready, leaving the two males alone once more and Wren was practically grateful for her absence. At least the little nuisance wasn't around to sense his...

_Might as well be fekking honest, _he thought unhappily. It was awe he felt towards the old Shistavanen, because this was Shiv-kriffing-Sanarl.

He hadn't made the connection when Ro had first told him about her adoptive parents. Shiv Sanarl was not an uncommon name among the Shistavanen, but the prosthetic leg, the tattered ear and the missing eye were a dead giveaway. This wasn't just some old wolf ambling up the stairs ahead of Wren. Shiv Sanarl was a hero of the Republic, a veteran of the Stark Hyperspace War and a leading expert on covert operations. And a legend among the ARC troopers.

Wren's flash-training had included all of Sanarl's military history and as an ARC cadet, he'd been required to recite entire chapters out of the covert op manual Sanarl had written. There'd been other military figures, whose lives and works Wren had memorized, but this was the first time he'd ever come face-to-face with one of them.

In the past, these strategic geniuses and war heroes had been abstract figures; mere dates and statistics in his head. Being able to look one of them in the eye and see for himself the toll war had taken on the body was an experience Wren had never anticipated he'd receive.

And Sanarl was so utterly _unlike _Fett.

"Here we are, Eda my love. Just like ordered," Sanarl called out jovially. The old Shistavanen moved ahead, to where his wife sat rigidly on a plush chair.

Wren stopped in the entranceway, glancing around the large room.

Every Star Destroyer and frigate had its own library, but none of them compared to this one.

Holonovels intermingled with flimsi-paged books, all lined up neatly on great wooden bookcases that covered most of the walls. Two transparisteel windows gave a full view of the garden at the center of the house and the streets running along at the front. Large chairs and an immense sofa were grouped around a low table in the center of the room, with a piano slightly off to one side.

The library smelled of flimsi, polished wood and something slightly sweet and the lighting was _inviting _in a manner Wren couldn't define.

"What is _he _doing here?" Eda demanded from her place on one of the large, light blue chairs.

"Now, now, my love," Shiv soothed, stroking her hand as he settled on the sofa next to her chair. "Wren here is our guest and it's not like we can let him stay on the porch for the rest of his visit."

Eda sniffed, apparently not at all of her husband's opinion on that matter. She gave Wren a hard, poisonous look which he returned in kind.

So the old bitch could throw a knife. That didn't mean he was about to cower before her. _Roll on my back, my ass, _he thought acidly and moved away from the seating arrangement and towards the transparisteel wall overlooking the street outside.

"Everything still at tolerable levels in here?"

Wren glanced away from the view outside to see Ro entering from the opposite side of the library, wheeling a large case behind her. Wren frowned. That definitely was not the quetarra she'd played during their first meeting on Gaftikar.

"It was more tolerable two minutes ago," Eda snapped.

Wren snarled. "Then why don't I just fekking leave?"

"No," Shiv and Ro said in unison.

"Don't be foolish, lad," Shiv added, with a frown at his wife. "Where else could you go?"

"I'd rather sleep on the kriffing ship than in effing hostile territory," Wren said, glaring at Eda. The old woman didn't flinch.

"Oh, for Force's sake," Ro cried in exasperation. Leaning the large case against a chair, she faced Eda and Wren, fists planted firmly on her hips. "You two, stop it right now. Cookie," she glowered at him from beneath messy bangs, "just put a filter on that mouth of yours, park your cargo hold somewhere nice and enjoy the music. And Eda," she turned to face the older woman, "I know he's a mono jerk, but there's no need for transferring aggressions. If you wannna slice and dice my new partner, then at least do it for his own offenses, not because Jango Fett pricked your skin."

Wren shot a startled look at Eda. She'd known Jango Fett?

Eda had grown even more rigid, if that was possible. Her lips were compressed into a tight, thin line and she wasn't looking at either Wren, Ro or her husband.

"Fekking forget it," Wren growled and turned to leave.

"Fine," Eda snapped out suddenly. "He can stay. For now." She pointed one finger at Wren. "But you are in _my_ house. Amongst _my _family. Enjoying _our _generosity. I don't demand that you like me. I don't ask that you are gracious. I certainly do not ask that you are polite." The way in which she said the word made it clear that she didn't think Wren capable of such a feat, even if he had been willing to try. "What I expect," she continued, raising a single, elegantly curved eyebrow, "is _acknowledgement_. This is not your home. You are a guest. A stranger. Offend me or my family or break the rules and you will suffer the consequences. Clear?"

Wren shot a look at Shiv. The old Shistavanen gave an almost imperceptible nod. The tactics that Shiv had developed and which had been flash-trained into Wren had saved his life more than once on the battlefield. Perhaps taking Sanarl's advice in this situation would be prudent as well. Wren certainly didn't have much to lose, aside from the chance of sleeping in a regular bed instead of a bunk and eating civilian food.

He met Eda's hazel eyes, giving her a sharp nod. "Copy that."

"Good." Obviously satisfied, she settled back into her chair like a queen on her throne. "Now apologize to Ro."

Now it was Wren's turn to go rigid with anger. "I already fekking have," he snapped.

Ro glanced at him, startled. This was clearly news to her and Wren felt a fresh wave of resentment come over him. He shot an accusing glare at Shiv. He should have known complimenting the little nuisance was a fekking waste of time. He never should have shown such weakness.

"Why not take a seat, Cookie?" Ro's voice broke through the growing silence. She offered Wren a small smile. "Music's way better to enjoy when sitting comfortably."

It was up to him now. His choice would decide the outcome of this confrontation. Wren glanced from Ro to Shiv, then looked at Eda. The challenge was clearly visible in the older woman's eyes.

Wren, never one to back down from a challenge, pulled out a chair from a desk and sat down, positioning himself so that his back was to the wall and he could keep the entire room in view, including the two entrances.

Eda shot him a contemptuous look before focusing on Ro. Shiv merely sighed and settled himself more comfortably on the sofa.

Ro hesitated, gazing at all three for a few long seconds before deciding that this was about as harmonious as things were going to get.

With practiced fingers she unlatched the case and pulled out an instrument easily as tall as she was.

Wren cocked his head, observing the play of light over the reddish wood of the instrument. The instrument was shaped like a figure eight, with a long neck and four strings running from the top of the neck down to the hollow body. Ro positioned it against her knees and Wren saw shimmers of purple and blue reflected in the wood.

Ro spent a few moments adjusting wooden knobs attached to the top of the instrument's long neck, then placed a bow against the strings. She closed her eyes and gently drew the bow across the four strings.

Wren didn't know what he'd been expecting. The large instrument was so far out of his experience that he hadn't even hazarded a guess.

But the smooth, mellow tones coming from the large wooden body of Ro's instrument were utterly startling. There was nothing in Wren's repertoire to compare the sounds to, except cool, dark waters and a piece of velvet he'd touched once, covering a stuffed animal left behind in a bombed-out house on Atraken.

He cast a surreptitious look at Eda and Shiv, trying to gauge their reactions, looking for clues as to how to take this unexpected performance.

The old couple was utterly relaxed; Eda had even unbent enough to openly smile fondly at Ro. Shiv, lying on his stomach, had pillowed his head on his crossed arms and was breathing evenly, his one remaining eye half-lidded as he listened to Ro play.

Wren crossed his arms over his chest, the creak of his armor an unpleasant countenance to the deep, mellow melody Ro was creating. Taking his cue from Eda and Shiv, Wren focused his attention solely on Ro; watching the gentle sway of her long, pale blond and blue hair, studying the serene expression on her face and simply listening to the music.

It was good. It was...the exact opposite of everything he'd ever known. There was nothing here to accelerate his heartbeat; nothing that prompted a quick outpouring of adrenaline and constant vigilance.

Was this what civvies meant by _peaceful_?

* * *

Ro carefully put her cello away and joined Wren at the transparisteel window, leaving Eda and Shiv to their quiet discussion about the pros and cons of modern variations on the Bith Exogeny Quartet.

"You've been awfully quiet," she said to the trooper by way of greeting.

Wren's eyes flickered from the window to her. He'd retreated to this silent corner after she'd finished playing her cello and Ro didn't need the Force to sense the brooding cloud hanging over his head.

"What kind of instrument is that?" he asked finally.

"A cello," Ro answered, smiling, as she always did, at the memory of how she'd gotten the instrument. "I helped a Bith musician extricate himself from a crowd of intoxicated and rather ardent critics and he gifted me with the cello as a thanks." Her grin widened. "He said it was too tall for him, anyway."

Wren snorted, but still kept his eyes averted from her.

"Did you...like the music?" she asked hesitantly.

Wren grunted, then seemed to realize that was not going to be a satisfactory answer. "It wasn't like when you played the quetarra."

"So, is that no? Yes? Rent a vowel?"

He looked down and Ro thought she sensed a slight hitch in his Force-signature. Now what did _that _mean?

"It was good," he said slowly. "Different."

She smiled up at him. "I'm glad. Can I ask you a question?"

Wren finally looked at her, quirking an eyebrow. "You just effing did, _cheeka._"

Ro giggled. "Good point." The smile died and she fiddled with the triangular charm hanging from her Padawan braid. "I was wondering..." She glanced at Eda and Shiv and lowered her voice, so that only Wren could hear. "Did you mean what you said, about already saying sorry?"

His face closed down like a Mygeeto bank vault door and the lightning-like shield of his _anger _came up, locking her out.

Ro blew out a breath. "Is this how it's going to be? You being a jerk, me getting mad and expected to forgive and forget? That's not fair, Cookie."

"You apologize for every fraggin' thing in your life," he said through clenched teeth, "and you might as well let the clankers shoot you." He looked down at her, his eyes burning. "I've hurt people a kriffing lot worse than I ever did you. I've fekking _killed_ any sentient who got in my way. You want me to go back to every karking corpse and say I'm vaping sorry? That's a weakness a soldier can't afford."

"I'm not the enemy, Wren," she argued, putting a gentle hand on his clenched fist. His body went even more rigid at the contact, if that was possible. "I'm your partner. I'd like to be your friend." Even more quietly she added, "And it's alright to show a little weakness around friends. You give a little and you might get a whole lot more in return."

They were interrupted by a bone-popping yawn.

Shiv had uncurled from the sofa and was stretching his long frame, his mouth open to expose the gleaming fangs inside, as he yawned a second time.

"Well," he said, scratching behind his tattered ear sedately, "that's enough excitement for this old wolf. I'm off to bed. Eda?"

Eda nodded and held out her hand to her husband, which Shiv took.

Wren rolled his eyes and looked away.

"Ro? Wren?" Shiv asked. "What about you two?"

"I'll show Wren the guest bedroom," Ro volunteered. Impishly, she elbowed the trooper in the side. "Just down from my room, too. It's every girl's dream."

Eda gave Ro a quick hug and a goodnight kiss on the forehead, an action that elicited some interesting ripples from Wren, _perplexity _being foremost.

Ro actually felt a little sorry for Wren. How was it that a grown man could so easily be thrown by the simplest displays of affection?

_Because he's never been on the receiving end, _she realized sadly.

She watched her parents leave the library, then with a sigh, she went to retrieve her cello case. The long day was beginning to take its toll on her as well.

An armored hand intercepted hers and grasped the handle of the case before she could.

Startled, Ro looked up into Wren's studiously blank face. He hefted the heavy case like it was nothing, looking at her expectantly.

"So where to?" he wanted to know.

Ro raised a quizzical eyebrow "You being all gallant now?"

He sighed, muttering something no doubt unflattering under his breath. "Your room, _cheeka_? Where the eff is it, or should I just throw this karking thing out the window and be done with it?"

Ro cocked her head to the side, regarding him for a long, long time, before breaking out into a beaming smile as she finally understood. "Apology accepted," she said, before ducking her head and running up the stairs, giggling madly all the while.

"I never effing apologized!" Wren yelled back.

* * *

_Rule #5:_ Apologies are a sign of weakness.

_Rule #5a: _But sometimes weakness is good.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well folks, it happened again. Darth Real Life has thrown a major hydrospanner into the gears that are my life and it turns out that updating two stories every week is just too much work for me right now. So **To Share a Sky **is switching to a new schedule. Updates will occur every other Friday, instead of once a week. **Stalwart Wings **will continue on its current schedule, however.


	5. Chapter 5: The Courtesy Mathematics

**Author's Note: **This chapter contains characters and places from Karen Traviss' _**Republic Commando** _series. I lay no claim to her creative property.

* * *

**The Courtesy Mathematics**

_Coruscant, Core Worlds_

"Do these earrings go with this outfit?"

Wren wiped down his Deece's ejector, carefully removing the last bits of carbon buildup before applying the solvent. "Sure," he said, checking his work against the galley's light.

"Cookie," Ro whined, "you're not even _looking_."

With a sigh, he looked up and the first thing to jump into his mind was: _pink_.

Ro was dressed in an airy shirt that left a good portion of her midriff bare. The pants were skintight until about an inch below the knee, where the material suddenly scrunched up into tight ruffles of bright red, yellow and orange. And the outfit was - with the exception of the ruffles - an eye-smarting shade of bright pink.

Wren blinked and almost completely missed the sparkly earrings Ro held in one hand, until she jiggled them impatiently in front of his eyes.

"Well?" she asked. "Do these earrings go with these threads or should I trade in sparkly for dangly? Whatcha think?"

"I think," he said slowly, deliberately, "that you're either running off to the Intergalactic Managerie or prepping to give a fekking lap dance." He paused, then added, "If the latter, I'd go with sparkly. No man likes to be effing reminded of 'dangling' when having a girl rotate on his privates."

Ro rolled her eyes. "So helpful. Not." Then she pursed her lips. "You don't like my outfit?" She looked down at herself, wriggling her toes in the open shoes she wore. Her toenails, he realized, were each painted a different color, though no less bright than the rest of her. She peeked at him through her messy bangs, a little uncertain now. "Too much?"

"For draping yourself across a karking Hutt? No. You're spot on." He turned his attention back to his disassembled blaster. After he was done with the DC-15S blaster rifle, he wanted to strip down and go over the DC-17. He still needed to adjust the weight distribution on the hand blaster; he'd never gotten a chance to do so before being blown to all Nine Hells on Gaftikar.

"Cookie." The whine was back in her voice and she gently kicked his leg. "You _know _I'm talking about the meet-and-greet with Master Zey. It's my first time shaking hands with the big brass and I want to make the right impression. Related to which, is that what you're wearing? I'm no expert on military standard-do, but ain't you a smidge out of uniform? Not that I'm complaining, or some such, seeing as that your present threads leave _emtix _to an imagination in the gutter, but outlined abs are hardly conducive to formal wear."

Wren didn't bother to glance down at his bodyglove. Instead, he took the scrub-brush from his maintenance kit and started in on the Deece's barrel. "I'm not kriffing going."

Ro blinked, as if unable to process the words. "Rewind and repeat?"

He put down the barrel, leaning close to her. "I'm. Fekking. Not. Kriffing. Going." He enunciated each word with great care, as if he were talking to an imbecile.

Ro cocked her head to the side, neither disconcerted by his proximity, nor insulted by his tone. "But your name's on the invit." She produced a datapad out of what appeared to be empty air, almost shoving the screen up his nose. It was the orders Fleet had sent over, telling Ro to present herself to General Arligan Zey, head of the Special Operations Brigade, for a formal introduction and further orders. It was the standard courtesy call and Wren had absolutely no-fekking-interest for that Kowakian monkey-lizard dance. He'd switched outfits three times already and that wasn't counting the three transfers he'd cashed _after _he'd left Kamino. Besides, he had no intention of setting a single foot into General Zey's office. He might no longer be an ARC, but he'd kept tabs on his fellow Alphas over the years; mostly so he could avoid them. General Zey's number one assistant in flimsi-pushing was one Alpha ARC-26 - _Maze _to every wet who'd ever wanted to break his face, which just so happened to include Wren.

Wren was bred to be smart; he was bred to be courageous and by his own admittance he was an adrenaline junkie craving the next rush. But even he wasn't suicidal enough to walk into an office manned by his former podmate. Maze might not be the brightest glowfish in the ocean, but even he would be able to put one and one together and come up somewhere in the vicinity of two when he saw Wren's face. And more importantly, the _very _distinctive scar running from the right corner of his mouth up to his cheek. And then all that stood between Wren and a cold slab on Kamino was Maze's twitchy, bureaucratic, boot-licking finger and a comlink.

_Yeah. Not going to kriffing happen._

Something of his determination must have shown on his face - or more likely, Ro was doing her Jedi thing - because the little nuisance actually backed off.

She took a step back, crossing her arms over her pink shirt. Ro's nose scrunched up and her brow furrowed as she studied him.

Wren felt the fingers on his Deece's muzzle twitch. She was doing it again; turning that unnervingly shrewd gaze on him. And from what he'd seen on Gaftikar, that look never promised anything good.

"Is this because you're a different brand from the other clones?"

No, nothing effing good came of it.

Wren let out a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as the alarm klaxons starting to blare in his head. "Fierfek, _cheeka, _where the kark did you get that idea from?"

Ro lifted a pale blond eyebrow, her lips quirking into a smile. "Cookie, factoid is that I'm no parsec near as much of a _koochoo _as you think I am. It doesn't take a Harch to see you've got moves they don't teach all the younglings in your class." The second eyebrow joined the first. "Or should I say, don't teach the class you're currently on visit with."

He put the muzzle down very slowly, feeling his fingers tighten spasmodically as adrenaline rushed through his system. Three years. Three fekking years and no one in that time had come as close to the truth as she had right now.

Anger pulsed through him, quick and hard, but he swallowed it down. Fek, that tasted bitter and vile.

"No one should have the fraggin' right to be as fekking smart-ass as you, _cheeka,_" he told her through clenched teeth. His first instinct was to lash out, to get rid of the possible threat to his life. His fight or flight instinct was on high alert and as a clone, it always came down to fight. He was very conscious of the dead blade strapped to his ankle, of the seconds it would take him to draw it out of its sheath and make his move.

This was a secret he'd kept watch over for three years of his life and it had the power to kill him. And now a nosy little Jedi was half-way there to figuring it all out.

_Fek. Fek. Fek. _

He forced himself to relax, to keep his hands at his sides even as he rose from his chair and instinctively maneuvered himself into a better position. He wanted to rid himself of this threat to his existence. But kriff it all, he'd already mentioned Asher to her and his brother's name was something he'd guarded even more carefully than the fact that he'd once been an ARC, destined to be the best of the best of the best. If he hadn't slagged her after that brief slip of the tongue in Shenio's mine, then he couldn't reasonably do it now for something she'd figured out herself.

Ro blinked a few times, her teal eyes shifting rapidly as if she were watching a high-speed wick-ball game.

"So," she said slowly, "does that mean I got it right? Do I win the golden Twi'lek?"

"What the _gfersh _are you going to do now?" he demanded, ignoring her inane question. The last thing she needed now was for him to confirm her suspicions.

"Do?" She looked at him as if this were an entirely new word to her. "I'm going to go back to my closet. Then I'm going to go give this courtesy call a whirl with Master Zey."

His face hardened in suspicion. "And?"

"And?" she repeated, watching him as if waiting for his next dejarik move.

Wren clenched his jaw, his annoyance ratcheting up another notch. Frag, how could someone so effing smart be so fekking stupid? "Who else are you going to fraggin' tell?"

"About you?" Ro shrugged and blew her bangs out of her eyes. "No one. In this business, it's bad sport to blow someone's cover." The nonchalance faded from her face, to be replaced by a smile that was shy and somewhat hopeful. "Will you tell me, though? About yourself?"

Wren ran a hand over his face, feeling decidedly off-balance. He'd underestimated Ro and she'd dealt him a blow he'd never seen coming. Fek, the _clones _he'd worked and lived beside had missed the clues, so why would he ever suspect this little nuisance of a Jedi would be able to put most of the pieces together on her own. She didn't even _know _what an ARC was for kripes sake.

His muscles were as tensed as a bowcaster's string. Wren felt like he'd just survived an ambush, his body still hyped on the adrenaline rush and perhaps that's why he said: "We'll see."

She beamed at him in pure delight and skipped off, the ruffles on her pants whispering and rustling as Ro headed back to her cabin to change. _Again. _

Wren let out a long breath, sinking back into his chair. He put his face in his hands, replaying the last few moments, weighing his options.

_No one _could know that he was Alpha-20. Alpha-20 was dead - reconditioned. It said so on every official Kaminoan record. And if word got back that he'd managed to slip through some cracks, then the long-necks would move heaven and the fraggin' stars to correct this _oversight. _So that left him with two options. Either he could arrange for Ro to..._have an accident _or he could trust her to keep her trap shut.

_Trust her. _Wren let the concept run through his mind a few times, before it finally hit him. _That barvy little Jedi. _She'd just outmaneuvered him.

Ro had deliberately put him into the position where he'd either have to get rid of her - and thereby lose his new-found semi-freedom - or actually invest a modicum of trust into his new - What was the word she kept using? - _partner. _

A thin smile pulled at the scarred corner of his lips, the gesture touched with irony and no small amount of admiration.

"Fekking smart-ass _cheeka._"

* * *

_Special Operations Brigade HQ_

The compound was huge and utterly bewildering and it didn't take Ro more than ten minutes to become lost.

"'Kay." She turned about on the spot, hoping for a sign or a conveniently placed personage with a point-friendly finger. So far, she was out of luck on both fronts.

"Well," she told herself, "there's one sure thing in this sitch. Far as I know, policy hasn't moved office space to the outside dimension."

Ro looked about the plaza she'd found herself in, sighing heavily before sitting down on the rim of a gold-veined marble fountain. "'Kay, Ro. Time for some new thinks. What's the next step in this sequence?"

_Decisions, decisions._

Ro desperately wished that she could have at least convinced Artee to come with her. The astromech could have downloaded the blueprints for the entire military complex and acted as a tour-guide. But Artee had weighed his options carefully and decided after about two nanoseconds that his odds of survival were better with one clone aboard a relatively big ship than in the biggest military complex in the Republic, populated at any given time with several thousand clones and non-clones.

_Of course, if Mr. Grumpy-Cookie-Pants had just masc'd up and come for the gander, _he _could have shown me the ropes like it says in his job description._

Ah, well. He hadn't wanted to come and she'd been the one to decide not to push.

The plaza was relatively business.

Ro leaned back on the fountain's edge, bracing herself with her hands and watched the flow of people. Not all of them were clones and not all wore the grey military uniforms or beige Jedi robes. There were a few rather peculiar individuals crossing the plaza, whom Ro tagged as 'dangerous-when-tickled' for no better reason than instinct. They didn't _look _threatening, per say, but...

_I seem to have acquired interesting new coworkers. _The thought pleased her to no end. But none of the people walking past her seemed in a conversational mood. Indeed, there were some who cast her questioning glances, as if wondering how a Jedi could have the time to lounge by a fountain on a sunny day, when there was a war that needed to be fought. Ro sighed. It didn't seem as if people involved in running wars had time for pleasant talks. Bummer.

"..._vode _are already moving in on them."

Ro's head swiveled around so quickly that strands of hair slapped against her cheek. Memory gripped her, hard and unrelenting.

_Cushioned on her lap, Wren's head moved about restlessly. He was on the brink of death, half of the bones in his body broken and still he could find no peace, no rest. _

_Ro pressed her dirty forehead against his, sinking ever deeper into the Force in an effort to give them both a fighting chance; trying to convince broken bones and torn muscles to knit themselves back together. She felt the brush of air against her cheek as his lips moved, blood flowing from the split skin. _

_"_Vod._" The word was no more than a breath and made no sense. But even in the midst of a healing trance, there was no denying the pain and regret in that single word. "_Ni ceta._"_

"Excuse me!" Ro was up and running before she could think about what she was doing. "Excuse me!"

Two men, one in white and red plastoid armor, the other in civilian clothing with a nerf-hide jacket, turned towards her.

Ro skidded to an abrupt stop as she saw that both men were reaching for their blasters.

"Whoa. Uhm." She looked from one to the other. It was only now occurring to her that perhaps charging towards two people in a military compound was perhaps not the brightest think she could have had. She quickly smiled at them in a way that she hoped was both friendly and adequately embarrassed for her gaffe.

"Yes..." The blue eyes of the older man quickly took her in, lingering on her Padawan braid and the twin lightsabers hanging off of her belt, "...Commander."

No attempt at civility; no effort to return the smile. The trooper - Ro thought he might be a captain, judging from the dots on his chest plate - didn't even salute. He merely settled his hands on his hips, atop what looked like a leather skirt that reached to his knees, regarding her through the T-shaped visor of his helmet.

These two were _not _impressed by her.

_Well, tough puff-pie._ Ro had remained undaunted in the face of far greater disapproval than what these two could dish out on their grumpiest days. Her smile widened and she stuck out her hand, placed so that either man could grab it. "Heyla. I'm Ro and I was wondering what branch of the lingua you were chattering."

The captain's head tilted slightly back before turning towards the shorter man, as if waiting for further instructions as to how to deal with this strange little person.

For his part, the other man appeared as stumped as the trooper.

He was in his sixties, no taller than Ro, with brown hair that was going grey at the temples. His appearance was slightly disreputable, a little shabby, but his Force-aura was like night and day, forced to coexist in an uneasy harmony. Ro sensed an intense _passion_ in this man, _love_ and _fury_ mingling until it was difficult to separate the two. The mixture caused an uneasy response in her own body; the capacity for love this man had made her want to weep and hug him, but the potential for violence caused her fingers to itch for her lightsabers.

And he did _not _like the look of her. Even if Ro hadn't been able to read other people's emotions, there was no way she could have missed the manner in which his eyes narrowed as he studied her brown and beige Jedi robes. After long minutes of dithering, Ro had decided back onboard _Mockingbird _to err on the side of beige and dress in the traditional Jedi robes; spiced up with a colorful Togruta sash and the fact that half of her long, platinum blond hair was a glowing shade of purple. But judging by this masc's reaction, her freshly pressed robes might as well have been Hutt slime.

But Ro's curiosity had been piqued, so she stood her ground and kept her hand outstretched, smile still in place.

Slowly, deliberately making her wait, the older man took a piece of ruik root from his pocket and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

The captain shifted uneasily. "Kal_'buir, _we should go."

"Just one second, Ord'_ika_."

Ro cocked her head to the side, as intrigued by the strange words as their behavior. This..._Kal-boo-eer'_s eyes never shifted away from her, but she might as well have been gasping for breath in vacuum for all the regard he gave her. She wasn't _important. _Not to him and not to the clone captain, that much was obvious.

Finally, the older man extended his own hand, but instead of shaking her hand, he clasped her wrist tightly. Ro hurriedly did the same and felt the familiar press of an arm-sheath beneath the fabric of his sleeve. In turn, he felt the outline of the slim throwing-blade she kept strapped to her forearm and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

_Surprised you, didn't I? _she thought smugly.

"Kal Skirata," the older man introduced himself. He nodded towards the clone captain. "This is Captain Ordo."

Apparently taking his cues from Skirata, the captain inclined his head in a gesture of respect that entirely lacked any such feeling. "Ma'am."

Ro tried hard not to grimace. Goodness, but she felt like someone had strapped twenty years to her back whenever she was called 'ma'am'. Did any woman actually _like _being called that?

"Nice to greetcha. You've got some interesting vocab, Captain. I was wondering about the brand name."

Skirata frowned and the captain did that head-tilt thing again, as if he were checking something on his HUD.

Ro fiddled with the triangular charm that hung off of her Padawan braid and tried not to sigh. "I heard you say '_VOH-day_'," she said, making sure to pronounce the word just as she'd heard it. She had a pretty good ear for languages and had a knack for imitation. "I was wondering if that's in any way related to," she closed her eyes for a second, concentrating to remember the exact way Wren had pronounced the word, "'_vohd_'. And if so, what's it mean and what language is it?"

Skirata and Ordo exchanged a quick look that was equal parts puzzlement, alarm, suspicion and wariness. The emotional bond that existed between the two men thrummed like a rushing river with dangerous undertows. That there _was _so strong an emotional bond between a clone trooper and a non-clone was something Ro didn't have the experience to question or even wonder at.

"You've encountered Mandalorians?" Ordo asked, his tone interrogative.

Ro blinked in surprise "Mandalorians?" she repeated, baffled. "So those words are Mandalorian?" Though she had traveled extensively these past two years, Ro had never actually encountered one of the famed - or infamous, depending on one's interpretation - Mandalorians. Those who held with the old warrior traditions did not tend to be kindly inclined towards Jedi, no matter how unorthodox and the New Mandalorians were far too outspoken in their disdain for the kind of low-level scum Ro tended to be involved in for her to have ever crossed paths with them.

It had never actually occurred to her that Wren might have been speaking Mandalorian, though in retrospect that should have been obvious. The clones' genetic template, Jango Fett, had, after all, been the most _in_famous Mandalorian of their time. It made sense that Wren would know the language. Didn't it?

Ro was about to open her mouth to ask more questions, when a new voice intruded on their group.

"Commander Arhen."

She, Skirata and Ordo turned to see another clone trooper cross the plaza, heading right for them. His steps were quick without being hurried and unlike Ordo, he had his helmet clipped to his belt, which meant Ro did not miss the brief look of annoyance that crossed his face when he identified Ro's companions.

Ordo's reaction was just as telling. Although his body language did not change in the least, his Force-signature tightened around him, before relaxing once more, as if giving a resigned sigh. Something like _affectionate disdain _threaded itself through the chaotic mix of energies and feelings that surrounded Captain Ordo. It was a strange blend of emotions, but Ro couldn't sense any deeper than that. Quite frankly, concentrating on Ordo's Force-aura too long made her feel dizzy. If Wren was an akk dog prowling through the dangerous jungle of Haruun Kal, then Captain Ordo was an entire swarm of kyren, darkening the sky and swallowing anything in his path whole in his efforts to take it apart and analyze it completely. He was calm detachment and endless violence; a kaleidoscope of color, yet with an obsidian orb at its base that could not - would not - be changed. And it was all mixed and tangled in ways that Ro didn't consider normal, but couldn't classify as either healthy or unhealthy. Just..._unnerving. _

"Captain Ordo. Sergeant Skirata." The newcomer had reached them and gave each of the other men a polite nod before saluting Ro. "Commander Arhen, I'm glad I found you."

"You are?" Ro smiled up at the tall clone. "That's nice, Mr. Tall-Dark-Handsome-And-Totally-Unknown-To-Me."

Skirata snorted a laugh and even Ordo seemed mildly amused by her nonsense.

The newcomer was not. His politeness was just that: a polite formality. He was glad that he'd found her, in that her absence had been an irritation to him. In the Force, he was an iceberg on two legs, his emotions playing beneath the surface like shards of light fracturing in the ice, buried so deep it was hard even for Ro to suss them out. Other than a general feeling of _dissatisfaction _and _grumpiness _- mostly aimed at her and some aimed at Captain Ordo - she sensed practically nothing from him.

"I'm Captain Maze," the clone introduced himself. "General Zey sent me to find you, Commander. Your courtesy call began thirty minutes ago."

"Oh. Great gooey crumblebuns, is it already that late?"

"It is," Maze said, then turned his attention to Skirata and Ordo. "Captain, Sergeant, I was under the impression that you had a mission to accomplish."

The change in Ordo's Force-aura was as unmistakable as it was startlingly swift. There was no way for Ro to describe it other than that the Force around Captain Ordo grew _spikes_, like a defensive armor.

Ro quickly locked her hands firmly behind her back, willing herself not to reach for her lightsabers at this sudden increase in hostility. She'd never met anyone who was so good at bristling as this Captain Ordo.

Skirata put a placating hand on the captain's arm and nodded towards Maze. "We were just on our way when we were," his eyes flickered towards Ro, "delayed. Shall we proceed, Captain?" The tone was surprisingly deferential and just a tad needling, as if Skirata felt the need to remind everyone present that Ordo outranked him.

It seemed to make the captain a little uncomfortable in Ro's estimation, but the sharp spikes of _hostility _vanished from his Force-aura, for which she was grateful. Negative emotions like that always left a bad taste in her mouth.

"Yes, we should get going." The T-shaped visor swiveled from Maze, to her and back to Skirata and without any further ado, the two men left.

"Well," Ro said to no one in particular, "that was awkward." She looked up at Maze, but the trooper's face was inscrutable as he gazed after Skirata and Ordo. There was history between those three, that much was clear. Question was, did she want to get in the middle of it?

_Absotively not._

"So," she wondered aloud, "is it happy coincidence that my guide through that maze of corridors and doors," she pointed a finger at the huge building complex that had given her so much trouble, "is named after the self-same maze or a sign for my own sad lack of direction?"

Maze turned to look down at her, his brow furrowed. He didn't seem to have understood her and simply ignored the playful question.

"If you'll follow me, Commander," he said, indicating the building behind them. "General Zey is waiting for you."

Ro raised both of her eyebrows. "I'd hope so. Otherwise, we'd be having a mono stellar game of Hunter through the corridors."

Again, that blank look as he led the way across the plaza and up the stairs into the building. Ro let out a sigh, blowing her bangs out of her eyes as she did so. This Maze masc was Captain Control all the mono way.

Perhaps sensing that his demeanor had been less than civil, Captain Maze cleared his throat and hazarded a comment of his own. "I see you didn't bring your new partner with you, Commander Arhen."

Ro glanced away from the endless walls of grey and holos of starships that were the only adornments in this stretch of corridor. "Yeah, no." She shrugged, fiddling with her Padawan braid. "Coo-_Wren _didn't feel like coming along."

"Didn't feel like it?" Captain Maze repeated, his dark brows lowering in disapproval. "Commander, the courtesy call was directed at both of you. You should have overridden the lieutenant."

"Why?" Ro wanted to know. "I'm not the boss of him."

Judging by the look he gave her, Ro had just said something galactically _stoopa. _He didn't even bother answering her, just focused his attention forward.

Ro sighed and resigned herself to following after the taciturn captain like a good little selky. This whole courtesy call thing wasn't working out like she'd hoped and technically, she hadn't even started the actual interview.

But silence had never really been her strong-suit. The short interlude with Skirata and Ordo had started an entire tumble of questions inside of her head and it didn't take long for those questions to find their way from her mind to her mouth.

"Do you also speak Mandalorian?"

The question obviously caught Maze by surprise. He shot her a look, but quickly composed himself. "I was taught the language on Kamino, Commander."

"So all clones know it?" she asked.

Maze seemed to hesitate over that one. "The commandos certainly do. Most of their training sergeants were Mandalorians. As an Alpha ARC, I was trained by Jango Fett personally." A shiver of _pride _raced across his icy Force-signature, but it was also accompanied by a glint of _fear _that Ro could not account for. "The language has since trickled down the ranks." He grimaced. "The swears, in particular, have becoming popular amongst the rank and file."

"Huh." She thought this over for a moment, taking in the doors and offices they passed. The section of building they'd entered was busy, but not crowded. "What does _vod _mean? Or _vode_?" This time, the pronunciation of the two words felt more natural.

"_Vod_," Maze said carefully, as if measuring each word to see how poorer he'd be for letting it go, "means brother, sister or comrade. _Vode_ is the plural form." He thought for a moment, then added reluctantly, "Usually, it means 'brother' among clones."

So Wren had been hallucinating about his brother after being injured on Gaftikar. She thought about the other snatches of words she could remember from that time. There'd been two that had kind of sounded like names. Asher and Thrush. Was one of them the brother Wren had been talking about?

Ro bit her lip, then finally asked, "And _'ni ceta'_? What does that mean?"

Maze came to a stop, actually turning around to look at her fully. His brows were lowered, but he was more _surprised _than irritated, as if he hadn't ever expected to hear those two words. "It means, 'I'm sorry'. It's a means of begging for forgiveness amongst Mandalorians."

The two stared at one another for a few seconds longer, Maze obviously waiting for some sort of explanation while Ro's mind raced.

Did that mean that Wren had been begging someone for forgiveness in the depths of his hallucination. It was hard to imagine the proud trooper begging for anything, let alone forgiveness. Ro had actually gotten the impression that remorse and apologies were something utterly foreign to Wren. But she was sure that's what she'd heard him say. But who would he be asking for forgiveness? His brother; this Asher or Thrush?

_You've got some secrets, rolled up into all that grumpiness, haven't you, Cookie?_

Maze had apparently given up on ever receiving an explanation for her sudden interest in the Mandalorian language. "If that will be all, Commander," he said stiffly and gestured at a door ahead of them. "The general is waiting for you."

Ro peeked around Maze's form, studied the door to Zey's office for a second, then turned back to the clone captain. "One more quick ask and then I'll behave and meet-and-greet with the bosban."

Maze cocked a single eyebrow at her, his hands folded neatly behind his back. "Yes, Commander?"

"Do you have chest hair?" she asked, twirling a strand of purple hair around one finger. "'Cause the clones I've met bare-chested so far are distinctly lacking in that department."

The ice cracked. Maze gaped at her, clearly at a loss for words.

Ro continued to study the trooper, still twirling the purple half of her hair.

The door to the office opened and Jedi Master Arligan Zey poked his head out of his office.

"Ah, I thought I heard voices."

He glanced at the dumbstruck captain and frowned. "Is everything alright, Captain?"

Startled out of his astonishment, Maze straightened, trying to compose his face into professional neutrality once more.

Ro ducked her head, tucking a smile away. It was such _bombad _stellar fun to frazzle organics. A tad wicked of her, perhaps, but still mono loads fun.

"Ah, yes, General. Everything is fine." Maze glanced at Ro, before deliberately focusing on the older Jedi, saluting smartly. "General Arligan Zey, Commander Arhen, as ordered."

"Thank you, Captain." Zey stepped aside to let Ro into the office. "Why don't you grab yourself some caf. This won't take long."

Maze nodded, obviously relieved to get away from Ro. He shot the shorter Jedi another look, which Ro returned with a wide smile. The gesture seemed to unsettle the captain only more and he beat a hasty retreat.

"If you'd follow me, Commander," Zey invited her into a large office, dominated by a lapiz-topped table. "There are a few things I would like to settle before discussing assignments."

"'Kay," Ro said absentmindedly. She wasn't really listening; her attention was riveted on Maze who was walking down the corridor with those same quick, but unhurried strides he'd used when crossing the plaza.

There was..._something _about the way Maze moved and now that she thought about it, it was a trait he shared with Captain Ordo.

Both clones walked slightly leaning forward on their toes, ready to jump at the slightest sign of danger. Their hands never seemed to stray far from their holstered blasters. And Maze's eyes constantly tracked his surroundings and Ro was sure that beneath the helmet, Ordo had been doing the same.

_Vigilance. Attention. Focus._

Ordo and Maze couldn't have felt more different in the Force than if they'd been fire and ice incarnate, but those three traits were something they definitely shared. And Wren did as well.

_Maze said he was an ARC. _And judging by the similarities in armor, Ordo was as well. And the language. Maze had said that the Mandalorian had trickled down through the ranks, while the ARCS and the commandos had actually _learned _it. And it was mostly the swears that the normal troopers were supposed to know. But she'd never heard Wren use a swear word she hadn't been able to understand. No, his usage of Mandalorian had been restricted to a moment of mental confusion, where the brain fell back on what it knew best. Like a language learned in childhood.

Despite what Wren might think of her, Ro actually _was _able to add two and two together.

The skills that regular troopers like Gaff didn't share. Using uncommon words of a language he'd supposedly never been taught. The walk of a predator she'd so far seen only on him and these two ARCs.

_Cookie is one of them. An ARC. _Whatever that meant.

But if that was so, then why hadn't he wanted to come with her today? This seemed to be ARC central.

"Commander Arhen?" Zey was gazing at her, his eyebrows raised, greying hair swept back. He was still waiting in the doorway for her.

"Oh, ehm, yeah." She glanced again at Maze, but the ARC captain was already out of sight. "Of course. I'm sorry, Mas-_General _Zey. Didn't mean to stand around like a Woostroid statue."

"That's alright." Zey gave her a smile that was sincere, though slightly worn at the edges. The man radiated a _fatigue _that was slowly settling into his very bones. "I know from experience that this can all be a little overwhelming at first."

Ro gave the empty corridor one last sweep, as if checking for left-over ARCs to pop out of the ventilation shafts. "Yes," she said quietly as she followed Zey into his office. "Quite overwhelming. And educational."

It was obvious Wren didn't want people to know he was an ARC. Ro didn't know why, but she was poselutely determined to find out.

A smile tugged at her lips. She _loved _a good mystery.

* * *

**Translation: **_emtix _= (Bocce) vacuum, _koochoo _= (Huttese) idiot, _stoopa _= (Huttese) stupid, vod/_vode = _(Mando'a) single + pl. brother, sister, comrade, _Ni ceta =_ (Mando'a) I'm sorry


	6. Chapter 6: The Worst Mission Assumption

**Author's Note: **It took me a long time, but I've finally managed it. **LongLiveTheClones**, here at last is your treat. I hope it's everything you wanted.

* * *

**The Worst Mission Assumption**

_Lok, Outer Rim Territories_

"Think they're still after us?"

"Why don't you take a kriffing look?"

Ignoring the sarcasm, Ro peered around the edge of the boulder.

Green plasma bolts immediately came at her from the ridge and with a yelp, she ducked back behind cover, black chips of lava rock flying in every direction.

Wren, sitting behind his own boulder, glanced over at Ro as he piled grenades before him. "Well?" he drawled. "They still after us?"

"I have no clue," Ro told him, brushing grit off of her bantha-hide jacket. "But they're for truly still _shooting _at us."

"Jedi scum!" A male voice drifted through the winding passages of the lava. "Come out, so we can shoot you like the dog you are!"

"He's quite the negotiator. What's your think, Cookie? Wanna go out there and get shot?"

"I didn't fraggin' hear him invite me to the party," Wren said caustically.

"What's creeped up your craw?"

"How about the fekking fact that we wouldn't be having this effing conversation if you'd let me blow the kriffing base."

"Mono unfair! I _did _let you blow up their base."

"While the _crinking _pirates weren't kriffing in it!"

"You can't just blow something up while someone's still in it. Then you'd be blowing _someone_ up, not _something_."

Wren banged the back of his head against his boulder, muttering unflattering verbs under his breath.

Ro, observing this behavior, said, "I sense you are frustrated."

"You fekking _think_?"

"Jedi! You have one minute to surrender! If you do not, we will kill you!"

Ro and Wren exchanged a look. "I thought he said we were going to be shot if we _surrendered." _

"Clearly Nym is a man of indisputable effing logic. Maybe you and he should have a kriffing sit-down and talk some fraggin' nonsense together."

"Hmmm." She thought about it for a moment, while listening to Nym's pirate gang advance across the lava field. The black lava reflected the sun to a burning intensity and the rock beneath Ro was almost hot enough to blister. But it was impossible to move across the lava quietly and the outcroppings made for some excellent cover. So long as they weren't being shot to cutting fragments.

"Whatcha doing?" Ro asked in a singsong voice. Despite her casual attitude, she had her lightsabers out and at the ready.

Nym had not taken kindly to the loss of his base and the Feeorin pirate captain didn't strike Ro as the blustering kind. He'd keep his promise and host a public execution for the entertainment of his Lok Revenants, should she and Wren fall into his hands. If, of course, the pirates didn't get carried away in their enthusiasm and killed them both during the chase.

"I'm bundling ammo," Wren said as he rolled lengths of mesh tape around two thermal grenades and a flash-bang.

Ro wrinkled her forehead in thought, cocking her head to listen to the approaching footsteps. At least six members of the Revenants must be advancing across the open lava, no doubt under careful cover of their comrades' blasters. "Why?"

"Thirty seconds, Jedi!" Nym warned gleefully.

"I'm exercising my Sithspit-given right to share my karking bad mood," Wren told her and stood and threw the bundle of grenades in one fluid motion, before falling back behind cover.

Before Ro could protest she heard several shouted orders, the whine of blasters and then an enormous _kaboom_! Even behind her boulder, Ro was flung onto her stomach by the pressure wave. The breath rushed out of her all at once, leaving her gasping. Shards of lava, as sharp of flechettes, cut through her clothes, leaving behind small rivulets of blood. Her ears rang; her head pounded. When she dared to open her eyes, bright spots danced and obscured her vision.

A vice-like grip took hold of her arm and Ro was jerked onto her feet with teeth-rattling force. A male voice - Wren's? - shouted at her, but she couldn't make out the words past the ringing in her ears.

_If I keep this up, _she thought irreverently, _I'll be needing a hearing enhancer before I'm thirty. Make it glittery and I'll be _bombad _stellar trendy. _

As if in response to her befuddled musings, the ringing in her ears abruptly ceased and sound rushed back with a clarity that was almost painful.

Behind her, there were shouts: some were orders, but most were howls of pain and rage. The Force vibrated and shuddered around her, as if Ro were inside a thunder drum during the devotional ceremony to Am-Shak, god of thunder.

"Move, _cheeka,_" Wren growled and tugged on her arm to emphasize the order, almost causing Ro to fall flat on her face.

"I'm moving! I'm moving!"

A green plasma bolt hit the lava an inch next to Ro's right foot. She dared a quick look over her shoulder and saw the Lok Revenents were hot on their trail, Nym in the lead. The Feeorin's blue skin was riddled with small puncture wounds and the thick tendrils hanging from his head streamed back as he ran. His face was a frozen mask of rage.

"I think you've made them mad," she shouted to Wren.

"Like they kriffing weren't before."

More green blaster fire came at them from behind.

A delicate spire of frozen lava and sulfur shattered as it was hit. Ro's right hand flashed out, her lightsaber already lit. The lava shards hit the blade with a _sizzle-crack _that made Ro wince. Pure, concentrated plasma could cut through almost anything, but she didn't want to put that to the test while under fire. With Wren still pulling her along at a break-neck speed by her left arm, Ro twisted about as far as she could, deflecting as many of the incoming blaster bolts as was possible.

But Nym's pirate gang were quick and they knew the lava fields far better than she or Wren did. They ducked and weaved in and out of cover, keeping her and Wren in their rangefinders, but not risking a close confrontation.

Wren suddenly veered right, no doubt trying to take advantage of the many looming sulfur spires in that direction.

But it _felt_ wrong. A single brush of the Force, like the touch of a ghostly feather against her right cheek, turned her attention to the left.

"Left!" Ro shouted.

Wren didn't look back. He didn't even slow down, but simply kept pulling her after him, further up the dead volcano.

"Wren!" she yelled and grabbed his wrist with her imprisoned hand, trying to tug him into the opposite direction. "Left!"

He turned his head fractionally and she could see herself and the barren landscape reflected in the T-shaped visor of his helmet.

"There's no fekking cover..." he started, but she cut him off with a violent jerk of her arm.

"Left!" she practically screamed into his face.

"Frag it," he snarled and broke left.

A green shot of plasma burst a thin wall of black lava just where Wren's head had been a second earlier. Wren didn't even seem to notice.

"Switch," he ordered and before Ro had time to think, Wren pivoted on his heel. She pushed aside_ fear_ and _irritation_ and concentrated on the moment, allowing her body to respond automatically to his movements. She turned with him and switched their positions so that she was leading, her hand still clamped around his wrist and he was following her, running backwards, Deece up and aimed at the pursuing pirates.

"Kriffing suck laser, bishwags."

She couldn't look back - the maze of lava and sulfur formations was closing in - but she heard screams, felt the acidic touch of _pain _through the Force as two, then three of the pirates fell to Wren's deadly accuracy. Whereas she had been trying to simply slow them down, Wren wasn't taking any chances. His ruthlessness never ceased to surprise her, but the cool, pragmatic part of her acknowledged that he was in the right on this one, even as the _ferocity _he radiated as he gunned down their pursuers made her quiver inside.

_Later. _

Ro abruptly let go of Wren's wrist and grabbed him by the back of his armor, pulling his head down.

"Fek." He tried to struggle for just an instant; just long enough for his brain to register the thick arch of petrified sulfur curving no more than a breadth over his bucket. The arch was broad, surrounded on both sides by the sheer walls of the volcano and the hole through which they'd slipped was narrow. Ro hoped it would slow Nym and his gang down, as they would have to go through the opening one by one.

Behind her, Wren cursed again. "I lost line of sight."

"Good," she wheezed.

He spun to face forwards, wrenching himself out of her hold as he did so. "How the fek is that any effing good?" He didn't sound the least out of breath, but then, Wren didn't have to breathe in Lok's sulfur heavy air. Ro was seriously beginning to envy him his kit.

"We can't spy them," she said, "they can't ogle us."

A low pressure _whoomp-whoomp _came from behind them.

Ro looked back, but the arch through which they'd escaped was already hidden from view by several bends in the growing maze of the lava field.

"Effing E-Web," Wren identified without slowing down. "_Shik _will blow through the rock in two minutes flat." He skidded to a sudden halt.

Ro was so surprised by the move, that she actually kept running for three more steps before coming to a halt herself. "What are you doing? Cookie, we need to skedooch in mono tick-tock beats."

He holstered his blaster and unslung the longer rifle from his back. "We can't outrun them," he told her calmly. "They know the territory and they have the numbers. The advantage is clearly theirs. We need to cut down their numbers; find the higher ground and attack from there in an ambush." He began to stare up at the steep slopes of the dead volcano, looking for adequate ground from which to launch his attack.

The matter of factness of his tone was eerie, considering the thoughtless brutality with which he'd gunned the pirates down earlier.

_Like he doesn't even have to think of what to do. As if the answers are already there in his head, ready and waiting to be used. _

Ro glanced up at the slopes as well. Lok had many dead volcanos, but this one must have erupted with unusual force. There were deep fissures and twisting canyons everywhere; ridges and embankments where the ground beneath had buckled or been shoved together by monumental strength. There were no doubt plenty of places to hide up there, but going up no more felt like a good think than running right had. Nor was remaining here. Ro's toes curled in her boots as a tickling sensation ran up and down her soles.

She grabbed Wren's elbow. "We need to keep moving."

Wren shook her off and began to move towards the volcano's wall. "Just shut up and follow, _cheeka._"

Ro hissed, grabbed a broken off piece of lava rock and threw it at the back of his head. The shard bounced off the plastoid with a dull _ping _and Wren whirled about, one hand instinctively going to the back of his head. "What the _gfersh_..." he snarled.

"We don't have time for this!" she yelled. "So would you for the sake of gooey crumblebuns just this once _not _assume that you're the master of all things fighty? I was outrunning pirates before you hit double-digit age."

"So what's your fekking plan, _cheeka_?" he demanded. Another _whoomp _echoed through the twisting pathways of the maze and in the distance, a yellow dust cloud rose into the equally yellow-tinged sky.

_Nym just planted his boot through the door, _she thought and once more grabbed Wren's elbows. "We run," she told him and did just that.

"Vape it," he snarled, but followed her, perhaps realizing they'd already spent too much time arguing to implement his plan.

They ran, at times having to leap over cracks in the rock wide enough to swallow them whole or duck beneath low-hanging archways. Ro soon lost all sense of direction. She couldn't even be sure how close their pursuers were; echoes bounced off of the smooth, black lava and came back to them distorted and from seemingly every direction at once.

Wren kept easy pace with her. The trooper had the longer legs, but he didn't seem interested in outpacing her and taking the lead. Either he was as disoriented as she was and unwilling to lead them into a dead end or he actually thought she did have a plan.

She didn't.

Ro had a _feeling._

The Force led her through the lava maze with no logic she could detect, but she never questioned its guiding hand. Ro trusted the Force blindly, for it had never lead her wrong.

A chasm opened up in the lava before them and when Ro felt the slight pressure of the Force on the top of her head, all she did was swallow once before bracing herself.

"Jump!"

"Are you barvy?" He was already slowing down, reaching for his ascension cable. "We can't make that."

"Never said we had to," she informed him cheerfully and tripped him.

Wren had good reflexes. Even as he cursed her to all Nine Hells he tried to regain his footing and almost succeeded. But you didn't stand a chance when dealing with someone who could anticipate your reflexes. Ro had fallen a step back and now she thrust her right foot in-between his legs, shoving her clasped hands into the small of his back at the same time.

Wren hit the ground shoulder first, rolling as he did so. Rolling right over the edge of the gorge.

With a shriek of delight, Ro jumped after her partner.

* * *

Wren tried to scrabble for a purchase on the edge of the chasm, but his efforts were fouled by his blaster and the frail nature of the lava rock. Even as his fingers closed around a small outcropping, he could feel the rock crumbling in his grip.

Above him, he could hear the mad, delighted cry of the Jedi.

_I'm going to kriffing kill her, _he thought and then there was nothing around him but empty air.

Training and the need to survive was strong enough to beat down the fear of imminent demise. He grappled for the ascension cable, trying to get out a line, but he was falling too fast and the gorge just wasn't that deep. It was futile. The ground was rushing ever closer and Wren had only one option. He twisted and curled, trying to distribute his weight so as to protect his neck and most important limbs. He could survive a broken arm, but a broken leg or neck and he was finished. At the moment, he didn't particularly care if Ro made it too.

The impact was jarring.

Wren's teeth snapped closed on his tongue and blood flooded his mouth. He felt his bones bend...But not break.

Instead, Wren felt the _ground_ give way beneath him.

He rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up with his hands, feeling them _sink down _as he did so.

Incredulous, he stared. What he'd landed on was not the highly polished black lava, but rock that was grey and porous. Though his inner instincts screamed at him to get moving, he picked up a piece of the grey rock. It was extraordinarily light and he could crush it into powder with the slightest application of pressure.

"Lava ash."

He looked up to see Ro getting to her feet. Around her was a roughly humanoid imprint in the ash and she was covered from head to toe in a light grey powdering.

"Stellar stuff, ain't it?" She grimaced as she rotated the shoulder she had dislocated back on Gaftikar.

Wren was up on his feet and taking a swing at her before she'd completed the sentence. "You. Bitch."

Ro squeaked and leaped out of his range. "Cookie..."

"Did you know this was here?" he wanted to know. "Did you fekking know this was going to be here when you kriffing _pushed_ me over the edge?" The blood pounding through his veins almost obscured her answer.

"I..." She hesitated and that was all the answer he needed.

"I should fraggin' shoot you where you stand," he growled and his fingers itched to do just that.

Ro's lips tightened into a thin line and she quickly glanced up. They must have dropped at least ten meters and even with the ash cushioning their fall, Wren could feel bruises forming where he'd taken the force of the impact.

"We have to delay this discussion," Ro told him. "Nym's on the close."

He was half-tempted to shoot her anyway - perhaps in the leg - and leave her for Nym. He pulled in a sharp breath and shouldered his blaster rifle. With a snarl, he drove his fist into the nearest rock wall. It too was made out of the compacted ash and gave far too easily, but it was enough to - momentarily - disperse the worst of his rage. Wordlessly, he turned his back on her.

"Where to?" he asked in a growl.

"West," she said quietly.

Never looking at her, Wren began to jog westward. It was impossible to run on the ash. Though compressed to solidity by millennia of pressure, the stuff gave easily beneath his weight and with every step he sank past his ankle into the ground. Then the ash field petered out into one of the dead rivers that were so common to Lok.

He saw where Ro wanted them to head almost immediately. Rising high on either side of the dead river were steep walls of rock - not black lava this time, but rock of a reddish-brown, streaked with layers of sulfur. The rock walls rose to a height of perhaps fifteen meters and were riddled with a series of openings, some of which might have been caves. Wren took a few seconds to scan their surroundings, then picked a likely spot. He didn't have time to run sensor readings to calculate the depth of the opening. Nym wouldn't be fooled long by their apparent disappearance.

"You got another fekking brilliant idea to get us up there?" he asked without turning to face Ro.

"No." She didn't try to come up beside him, but remained behind and slightly to the left of him. Not that it mattered. He could still see her crestfallen expression clearly thanks to the wrap-around vision of his HUD.

Pointedly getting his ascension cable, he attached it to the rifle and let loose a line. The grappling hook bit deeply into the rock and Wren gave it a savage tug, letting some of his anger bleed into the gesture. But the rock held.

He began to climb; Ro waiting until he was halfway to his chosen cave before following. She climbed well, a fact he was not in the mood to note with any charity.

The cave was no more than six meters deep; adequate for cover and no one could come at them from the rear. There was no source of water, but they still had enough of their own. Lok's harsh sun filtered through the entrance, illuminating the first three meters of the cave. That was fine. Wren didn't plan on moving any deeper than that. It might take Nym a while to realize that they'd 'jumped' the gorge, rather than circumvent it, but the pirate leader would eventually figure the trick out. For one, the depressions they'd left in the lava ash were unmistakable. That Nym might give up the pursuit was an option Wren didn't even consider. Nym loathed the Trade Federation and was therefore a sometime ally of the GAR, but the pirate had no love for the Republic either and by law, he was a wanted criminal. Besides, Nym was noted for his vindictive streak and he wasn't about to forgive and forget the loss of his base by two Republic agents. He had to make them pay, if only to save face before his crew.

"Cozy." Ro was looking about the cave curiously, as if expecting a dancing troop of Ewoks to burst out of the cracks at any moment.

Wren pushed past her and once more unslung his DC-15A. He knelt at the entrance of the cave, quickly checking over the blaster rifle while sweeping the terrain before them. There were three directions from which Nym could come at them: left, right and straight ahead, if the Lok Revenants took the chance to rappel down the rock wall opposite their cave. Personally, Wren didn't think Nym would take the chance. His people would be exposed rappelling down. Wren wouldn't even have to aim for the bodies. There were enough overhangs he could shoot to pieces and bury the climbers beneath. That left the dead river as Nym's only possible approach route and Wren's vantage point allowed him to see in either direction for a klick at least. The Revenants wouldn't be able to ambush them.

"So you're never going to talk with me again?" Ro wondered aloud.

Wren flipped the safety, checked the barrel was clear of ash and unlocked the safety again.

Ro blew out a breath, her bangs fluttering out of her eyes. "'Kay, so I should have given a one tick warning before sending you on the defenestration, but you weren't _listening _to me."

Wren unclipped the tripod, settled the blaster rifle atop and lay down on his belly. He adjusted the rangefinder, watching the numbers on the wind speed change. Unpredictable. He'd have to keep an eye on that.

"Cookie?"

"Defenestration," Wren informed her tartly, "is for when you throw someone out of a fekking window."

Silence.

Ro settled herself cross-legged next to him, running her fingers over the silk band of her holo-locket. "Artee's going to do a pick-up round soon," she told him. "He's mono quick-speed on the evac."

Wren wasn't about to trust his life to a clanker. He scanned the dead river through the rangefinder, checking for heat signatures. Worthless. The ground had absorbed too much of Lok's primary's warmth for the rangefinder to distinguish between sentient heat signatures and the surrounding terrain.

Ro seemed incapable of taking the hint. She paused a beat, as if waiting for an answer, then suddenly burst out: "I'm still not used to this partnership deal. I mean, I've always wanted a partner, 'cause it gets so _bombad _boring all on your onesome in the ship, though Artee can crack a good holovid scene meltdown. But I suppose," she bowed her head, running a hand through her mass of half platinum blond, half purple hair. "I suppose we both aren't so used to sharing thoughts and explanations. Too much time logged on the lonesome chrono maybe."

She waited for him to comment, but when he remained silent she sighed. "'Kay, then. Guess I'll start the sharing feast. I trust the Force. When it says jump, I get giddy with ticklish anticipation of a wild ride. It's never led me wrong, so when it points the proverbial finger, I follow, even if I can't see the end goal. The Force guides me, Cookie and I think...I think you can trust it, too. Or maybe trust my interpretation of a sitch every once in a rotation. I'm not total shiny material after all."

The wind picked up, blasting through the funnel the dead river had cut through the rock. Wren made the necessary adjustments and checked for electronic interference. The comm channels in his HUD were all open, but there was so much static filtering through that communications were almost useless. Ro had sent the evac call to the _Mockingbird _in Binary code. If the astromech was worth its faulty circuits, it should be able to pick up the orders through the static.

Ro sighed again and slumped a little. "You're _that _mad at me?"

He was angry at her. She'd kriffing pushed him down a cliff.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain his calm and push down the rush of adrenaline that had taken hold of him. Wren would be the first to admit that his sense of morality was not just skewed, but also minimal. At least, according to the civvy standards he'd been able to learn. But though it galled him, Wren knew when to admit that...someone else was right. As an ARC, he _had _been bred and trained to be more independent than any other class of trooper. He was meant to work alone, which was one reason why being demoted to a regular grunt had been such torture. Constantly being surrounded by others, always having to fit in with the command structure, having to follow orders and nothing else had been maddening and went against his very nature. Joining up with Ro, Wren had shed about three million pieces of unnecessary baggage. But that didn't mean he was back to being a lone operator. _Teamwork, _he knew, required more than one person leading and the other following. At least, that's what his flash-training told him. As far as personal experience went, he was in unchartered territory.

He shifted slightly on his belly. Perhaps it was time to practice some of that 'giving a little' Shiv had proposed.

"Ro."

She perked up instantly at the sound of his voice. "Yeah?"

He checked the wind indicator again. "Sound travels far in a funnel like this. So shut the fek up before you lead Nym to our doorstep."

She beamed at him. "Gotcha, partner."

* * *

More than two hours passed and Ro's enthusiasm was definitely flagging. Wren's patience wasn't doing much better.

"Where's that fekking droid?"

Ro nibbled on a piece of dried muja fruit, back pressed against the side of the cave's opening. "Lava must be making it hard to ping lifesigns. He'll be here."

Wren snorted. He was still lying on his stomach at the cave entrance, blaster rifle at the ready. He hadn't moved much in the interim, except to carefully stretch his limbs every half hour, no doubt to keep from cramping up. "You sure he's not just cowering under the control board?" he asked sardonically. Wren made no bones about his low opinion of her astromech.

Ro clucked her tongue in disapproval, but said nothing more. They'd given up on total silence about fifteen minutes ago. Ro could still sense the presence of the Lok Revenants out there in the maze of lava rock, but as far as she could tell, they weren't closing in. Either they had no idea where she and Wren had gone, or they were discussing strategy.

Wren thought it was the latter and had decided it was time to change their own approach. It was never good to just wait for the enemy to come at you. It gave the pirates too much room for initiative. Ro had to agree on that score.

"Next time I see that fekker Kaes, I'm stuffing his Intel where the kriffing sun won't reach."

Ro clapped a hand over her mouth to hide a snicker. "You just don't like that he beat you at sabaac."

"He effing cheated."

"He's a smuggler, Cookie. Course he played double-bluff. But Intel _was _on the pinpoint."

Wren grunted. "Even a blind nuna finds a fraggin' crumb."

Fascinated as always by his vocabulary, Ro asked, "Where'd you hear that one?"

"How the _gfersh _should I know?"

Which was Wren's charming way of telling her the subject was closed. She offered him a handful of the dried fruit. "Want some?"

"No. Kripes, this has to be the worst mission ever."

Ro quirked both eyebrows at this non-sequitur. "_This _is the worst mission you've ever been on? I find that hard to grapple, Cookie. I mean, you were on _Jabiim._" Her voice dropped to an awe-filled whisper at the mention of that catastrophic loss to the Republic.

"Finally read my kriffing file, did you?"

"I skimmed," she admitted. She bit her lip, then asked, "I mean, it was _bad _on Jabiim, right? Mono _bombad _leagues of bad. Can't really see that comparing to little ol' us being stuck in a hole in the wall, waiting for evac or pirates."

Wren flexed his right foot, then his left. "You wouldn't understand, _cheeka._"

Ro felt her face harden at his casual dismissal. "That's right," she said, deliberately imitating his laconic drawl. "Little Jedi girly can't possibly hold up to the galaxy-wandering trooper's experience. After all, where's she been these past four years? Rattatak, where finding new ways to kill is the planet's number one industry. A prison in Solay, 'bout a tick away from being executed for finding a little girl's skeleton. Counseling a Seccer who just shot an eight-year old youngling. Wandering through the crime dens of the galaxy, scratching at the underbelly of civilization, trying to free slaves and having to watch most of them get dropped in an active volcano for the rebellion you incited. Nah, you're right on. I can't _possibly _understand pain, death, deprivation, loss, defeat or wholesale slaughter. Totally out of my range of comprehension. Guess you win the golden Twi'lek. Congrats."

Wren had turned about to face her at hearing his own drawl come from her mouth. Now he seemed frozen in honest _astonishment. _"Did you just get _sarcastic _with me?"

She gave him a look that could have iced over Mustafar. "You always assume I can't compare experiences with you. Well here's the upflash, Cookie. My life hasn't been all tooka dolls and nova lilies. Mayhaps I was never a soldier in the kinda war you're fighting, but I've been to war. I've been _at _war ever since I twined my first Padawan braid and I don't need you patronizing me from a pedestal. You're not the only one in this cave with some mono bad missions on record."

"That so?"

She couldn't quite identify the tone of his voice, nor the emotions that flittered across his Force-aura like agitated birds. She supposed he was thoughtful, but that was about all she could tell. Oddly enough, he wasn't in the least angry at her for the rant.

"So what was your worst mission?" he finally wanted to know.

The question took her aback. Wren had never shown an active interest in her past thus far.

"I..." She had to think about that for a moment. "It's hard to choose. I guess..." She hesitated, wondering if she really wanted to share this with him. _I started it, _she thought fatalistically. _Might as well prove I've got the tough to walk the talk._ "Solay," she finally admitted. "Friends of Master Altis asked him to help find their daughter. She'd gone missing in one of the roundups their despot king is fond of. Master Altis thought I could help."

"She's the skeleton you found?"

Ro nodded. "I tracked her by her favorite doll. Her skull was all smashed in and they didn't even have the decency to dig a grave. Just left her in the woods for the animals." She paused, then added, "She was four." Ro quickly rubbed at her eyes, not wanting to break down into tears. It had been three years since Solay, but the memory of that forlorn little skeleton and the events that came after were still hard to swallow. "The king's guard didn't like us snooping about. They ambushed Master Altis and me, took us to a prison. I never did learn where exactly." She shook her head, trying to dislodge that mystery from her mind. It didn't matter. "The cell they put me in was full to bursting. Not even enough room to sit. They'd throw food into the cell and everyone would snatch and grab like animals. I was always afraid I'd get trampled. The stench was the worst, really, because some people _did _get trampled or were sick and the guards weren't really 'fresher conscious." She wiped at her brow. What she didn't say, because she had no words with which to describe the experience, was how the Force had almost smothered her during those nightmare days and nights. The endless cycle of _fear _and _pain _and growing _hate _that had come off of the other prisoners had been enough to crack through every mental defense she'd had. She'd been bombarded by their feelings, subsumed, until the racking pain of the mind-block had shocked her back to reality. And then the whole sequence would start over again, with her slowly loosing herself in the emotional maelstrom surrounding her, until the pain in her head was enough to bring her back around.

"How long were you there?"

"It seemed like forever," she said. "But Callista later told me it was about four days. I didn't know. There were no windows and the guards came irregularly."

"You got rescued?"

She didn't think she'd ever heard him say so much without interjecting a single curse word. "Sort of. There was this one guard, the captain, who liked to come around and tell me that I'd be executed today, this hour, whatever. That they'd already killed Master Altis. Guess he finally got tired of pretending. And...I can't be sure, but I think they got orders from their king to remove any witnesses."

"The other people in the cell."

"Yeah. They were all killed. Shot right there, like gooberfish in the barrel. The captain grabbed me while the rest of his men finished off the survivors. I kind of...snapped after that." The sweat was coming thick and hard now and Ro blinked the sting out of her eyes. This part was the worst to tell, but she was committed now. "I used the Force. I don't think they knew I could, mayhaps of something Master Altis told them, but they weren't prepared. I turned..._everything _on them. Every little bitty piece of fear, every shred of pain I could find in the Force, I took it and dumped it on them. One of the guards' hearts burst; I scared him to death. The others were crying, cowering in corners or trying to run away."

"And the captain?" Wren had by now fully turned to face her, the blaster rifle forgotten. There was no whiff of _disgust _coming off of him for what she'd done, only _curiosity _at what happened to her chief antagonizer.

"He had a seed of paranoia in him," she answered. "I made it grow until he was shooting at everything that moved, including his own people. He managed to kill one before his mind went completely and he killed himself." She felt the bile rise in her throat at the memory and she turned her face away, lest she vomit in front of him. What was worst of all, was that she'd never been able to feel much regret over the death of those guards. She _hated _what she'd done, despised herself for using her Force-empathy in such a manner; for tapping into the dark side in a moment of absolute despair and madness. She'd cried over her deeds and those poor dead souls left in that stinking prison. But she'd never cried for the prison captain or his men.

Wren turned back to his rifle, fiddling with the instruments. The silence stretched into something unbearable and Ro half-wondered if she hadn't scared him with her story. Master Altis, Callista and Geith had certainly been horrified when they'd found her, curled up amidst the dead and half-mad; Altis - still wonderfully alive - leaning heavily on Geith. They'd know what Ro was capable of. But knowing and seeing were two very different things.

"Gaftikar." Wren finally broke the silence. "That was my worst mission."

The admission startled Ro out of her growing depression. Wide-eyed, she turned to stare at him. "Gaftikar? For realspace? B-but you fought on Geonosis, Atraken, Jabiim, Qiilura. I assumed..." She stopped as she realized the stupidity of that sentence.

"I _fought _on those bloody planets." His voice had dropped back to a half-snarl and _anger _- hot and fast - pulsed through him, though none was directed at her. "I did something there. I had a fekking purpose; something to keep my body going, if not my damned mind. But Gaftikar?" He let out a breath that sounded like the hiss of a vine snake about to attack. "I was an effing shiny-sitter with nothing to do but sit on my arse all day and watch the civvies fek up their lives. I was..._useless_." The word rolled off his tongue like the vilest drop of poison. There was more beneath that assessment, but Ro sensed this was not the time to pry. If she interrupted him now, Wren might never open up to her like this again.

"I wanted it to end. I almost _made it _end."

Ro shivered at the thread of _determination_ that twisted through him. She'd guessed back on Gaftikar that Wren possessed a dangerous self-destructive streak. But she'd never thought that quirk in his personality had come so close to taking him over.

"Then you arrived," he concluded, "and suddenly I wasn't useless anymore. I had a fekking purpose. A _challenge._"

Carefully, so as not to startle the man with the blaster, Ro reached out and touched his left ankle. "I'm glad I came to Gaftikar," she said. "Best mission ever."

Suddenly the mouth of the cave exploded with light.

Wren yelled in surprise and pain, flinching back and knocking over the blaster's tripod as he did so.

Ro threw her arms across her face, dropping the forgotten pieces of fruit as she did so. Blinded, she scrabbled backwards, deeper into the cave.

"Well isn't this adorable." Nym's voice blasted into the cave. "So sorry to interrupt your sharing time, but there's the matter of my base."

A shadow distinguished itself against the dazzling light. Ro squinted and saw several fleshy tendrils run down the head; Nym, followed by two others of his crew. Ro wondered how they'd managed to climb up to the cave, when she picked up the whisper of repulsors. _Open airspeeder_, she realized. Nym must have tracked back to the smoking remains of his base or a secondary stash of tech and gotten the speeder, cruising along or even over the lava maze until he picked Ro and Wren's tracks up again. If he kept the speeder to a walking pace after that, then Ro and Wren wouldn't have heard his approach over their conversation.

Ro jumped to her feet, blinking furiously against the bright spots obscuring her vision. _Second time in one mission. _She needed to get herself a pair of tricked-out glareshades. "You should be mono sorry," she told Nym and, ignoring the blasters aimed at her, she stomped up to the pirate, rudely poking one finger into his chest.

The Feeorin, unaccustomed to being threatened so boldly by someone who didn't even reach up to his shoulders, took a surprised step back, the heel of his boot almost slipping over the lip of the cave.

"_Pifgah_! We were in the middle of a stellar _moment,_ you snot. A critical intersection in the cementing of our partnership."

"Ro." Wren rose to a half-crouch, empty hands in the air as Nym's guards trained their weapons on him. Outside, someone dimmed the illumination bank and Ro did indeed see an airspeeder hovering just before their cave, crammed with five more of Nym's people. All of them were armed, their blasters aimed at the cave, though Ro knew they wouldn't fire with their captain and comrades blocking the entrance. "I don't think now's the time to give the fekking pirate a lesson in manners."

She half turned towards her partner. "How's he ever going to learn otherwise?"

Nym's mottled blue skin turned a deeper indigo. "You little..." His hand flashed out to grab her by the hair. But Ro was no longer there.

The Force had warned her of Nym's attack and with an easy grace she slipped away from his hand and between Nym and the guard on his left. Startled, the guard tried to swing his blaster around, but there wasn't enough space. Ro locked the muzzle of the blaster between her elbow and forearm and slammed her booted foot down on the man's instep. The pirate grunted and Ro shifted her balance, curling her leg and booting him right in the groin. The pirate wheezed and instinctively loosened his grip on his blaster to cup his privates. Ro slammed the butt of the blaster into his face, then grabbed the weapon with both hands. "Wren!"

He was already on his feet and surging forward at Nym and the remaining guard, slamming his shoulder into the guard's belly. At her call, he turned and easily caught the blaster she threw at him. He kicked the retching guard in the face to ensure he stayed down and aimed the blaster at Nym.

"Game over, _chizk_."

Behind Nym, Ro ignited her two lightsabers.

Nym's flat face twisted into a smile. "I think not."

From outside the cave came the whirring of several blasters.

Ro glanced at the still hovering speeder to see that the remaining pirates had all trained their weapons on either her or Wren. By taking out the two guards, they'd also eliminated their organic shield. Nym's crew was good; their fights with the Trade Federation and the GAR had proven that. It would be simple for these men to take her and Wren down without endangering their leader.

"You're outnumbered," Nym sneered. He was unimpressed by Wren's armored hulk. "Make it easy on yourself, tube-spawn and surrender and my men will give you a quick death."

"And the Jedi?" Wren demanded.

Nym licked his pointed teeth. "She will suffer."

"Tempting," Wren drawled, "but you forgot one fardling little detail."

Nym's smile faded and his eyes narrowed.

"We might be outnumbered," Ro piped in, "but you're outgunned."

As if on cue, a piece of the sky rippled and a ship, long-necked and with curving wings, materialized; casting the canyon into deep shadow.

Nym whirled, staring at the de-cloaked ship in utter fury. "Fire!" he yelled. "Bring that bird down!"

His crew turned their blasters on the hovering ship, but before they could fire a single shot, _Mockingbird _bared its own teeth. Two heavy repeating-fire laser cannons dropped out from beneath the curved wings. An automated sentry gun rose from the top of the ship's cockpit. The muzzle of the sentry gun glowed crimson and a huge bolt of plasma erupted from the cannon. It was a warning shot and it hit the dead river below, but the impact wave was enough to violently rock the speeder, causing three of the pirates to tumble back down into the seats.

"I were you," Ro said cheerfully, "I'd consider practicing the age old art of waving a white piece of threads." The twin laser cannons swiveled towards Nym. "My astromech's got a nervous trigger program. Best not to delay and see how well you 'plode."

Nym swallowed. "He'd take you down as well," he growled, but Ro could sense a tremor of _uncertainty_behind the bluster.

"Take the risk," Wren challenged. "I dare you."

Nym turned furious eyes on the trooper, then slowly raised his hands into the air. One by one, the Lok Revenants dropped their weapons and followed their captain's example.

"How?" Nym demanded. "You had no backup."

"Wrong," Ro chimed as she crammed in her pockets for her binders. "You _assumed _we had no backup. Just like you _assumed _we couldn't get backup without you noticing. Wrong on both accounts." She peered past Nym's broad back to grin at Wren. "How stellar sneaky of us to reveal our position with talky-talk and not tattle on Artee finding us an hour ago."

The _Mockingbird _began to sink to the ground, forcing the airspeeder down as well.

"Good plan," Wren admitted as he kicked the two fallen guards in warning. "Up karks, before I boot your asses down the side of the cliff."

"_Our _good plan," Ro agreed and snapped the binders around Nym's wrists.

* * *

_Rule # 6: _If you insist on making assumptions, then at the very least always assume that you are wrong.


	7. Chapter 7: The Chandelier Fulfillment

**The Chandelier Fulfillment**

_Upper City, Taris, Outer Rim Territories_

Ro leaned on the prettily carved balustrade, looking down into the ballroom. The many loops of her earrings brushed against her cheeks and she gently twirled the long-stemmed glass of Daruvvian champagne in her hand, so as not to give in to the impulse of brushing the earrings back. Doing so would likely dislodge strands of her carefully arranged hair and expose the earbud comlink she wore.

Below, the party was in full swing and Ro watched a dozen couples pirouette in a graceful rendition of the Alderaanian waltz. To either side of the dance floor, crowds were gathered to either watch the dancers or talk amongst themselves, while waiters in dark uniforms and pressed white shirts served drinks and other refreshments to the guests. Ro watched them, her lips curved into a quietly amused smile.

She gently clicked her teeth together to activate the comlink. "I see you," she said in a low singsong.

"Shove it up your fekking exhaust pipes," came Wren's rough growl in her ear.

She covered a giggle by taking a discreet sip of the champagne.

Ro did not normally indulge. Alcohol had the unenviable side-effect of making her silly to the quadruple power, as well as dangerously lowering her inhibitions. Worst of all, her control over her Force-empathy was erased to a stub. The first - and _last _- time she'd gotten a buzz on had been on her sixteenth birthday. Master Adriav had only _just _been in time to stop her exuberantly good mood from causing the Hardexian ambassador to seriously embarrass himself - not to mention break a few marriage promises. Even after being introduced to sinthenol by Eda - the spies' choice for negating the potent effect of alcohol on the brain - Ro had chosen to remain abstinent from alcohol.

But she _did _like champagne and the vintage from Daruvvia had an especially refined taste to it: ripe berries, a hint of citrus and just the barest memory of the boa-wood barrel it had been stored in. And the bubbles tickled her nose.

"Cheer up, Cookie," she purred. "You've never looked better than in uniform."

From her vantage point, Ro could see Wren scanning the ballroom's crowd, adjusting his dark waiter's jacket while trying not to upset the silver tray he held in one hand and the full glasses on top.

"I'm going to kriffing kill Eda for this."

"Best stow your threats and put on a smile," she warned. "Happy drinkers on your six."

He turned around smoothly and Ro hoped she was the only one who noticed the military precision behind the movement. This was Wren's first time blending in with the shimmersilk crowd and Ro personally thought Eda had done a good job of establishing their covers. Wren's forced smiles and his far too sharp movements would go unnoticed by people trained from the cradle to view servants as nothing more than a pair of helping hands and legs. Neither Ro nor Eda thought it likely that the upper echelon of Taris would give Wren so much as a second glance, dressed as a waiter, but just in case they'd covered his distinctive scar and dyed his hair a light shade of brown. These parties always had their gaggle of hormonal fems and mascs wanting to rebel against the strictures of their doting parents by sleeping a round with the help. Given that Wren actually w_as _handsome and likely to attract some attention from that tipsy crowd, it wouldn't do to have a more social-conscious than normal heiress cruising HNE and discovering her erstwhile flirt's face duplicated three million times and running wild in the Outer Rim Sieges.

The couple that had approached Wren - two elderly Gran - took their glasses from his tray without even turning a single eye in his direction.

"You're getting stellar at that, Cookie," she murmured, just loud enough for the earbud to pick up the sound. "Remind me to recommend your services next time Eda plans on hosting a fancy get-together."

Her only answer was a growl, so low it was nothing but a vibration in her ear.

"Do you see the fraggin' target yet?" he asked.

Ro turned away from the balustrade, once more lifting her glass to her lips as she swept the balcony, the motion obscuring the movement of her lips. "Not yet."

"Fek this," Wren hissed. The earbud was good enough to pick up the barest rustle of his clothes as he once more took up his meandering patrol of the ballroom. "Scarlet should have shown up an effing hour ago."

Ro made a light humming sound at the back of her throat in agreement, smiling coyly at a threesome of young men in earnest conversation. One of them caught her eye and smiled in return, lifting his own glass in a courteous acknowledgement. Ro brightened her smile and turned away from the group, giving her floor-length gown a little playful swirl as she did so. It was all part of the game of courtly love that all nobles on Taris were expected to play; just another kind of dance that no one really took seriously and Ro - thanks to Eda - knew the steps by heart and could perform as expected, while her actual attention was on the room and the Force.

Wren was right, their target, Scarlet - the only piece of ID Republic Intelligence would give them - should have made her appearance already. Could the rogue RI agent have gotten wind of her pursuers?

_If she's got any smart-thinks, _Ro thought, _then she already knows the Republic sent the hounds after her and every shadow could be waiting binders around her wrists. _

Ro lingered a moment in front of the dais, where a second, smaller ensemble of musicians entertained the people gathered on the wide balcony. In general, this was a slightly older crowd than the one below, in the ballroom; more interested in talk than dancing and the music was appropriately subdued and tuned towards generating a pleasant background murmur. Watching the musicians gave Ro an excuse to pause and perform a deeper scan of the Force. To an outsider, it would seem that the young woman in the frothy, delicate pink dress had simply drifted off in thought while enjoying the sweet susurrant of the music. In reality, Ro was an internal storm of activity. Like a diver preparing for a deep-sea dive, she took the equivalent of a deep breath and submerged herself in the complex tapestry of the Force around her. The dominant mood of the party was one of good cheer, calling to Ro's mind an image of a freshly poured glass of champagne, the bubbles eagerly rising to the surface to delight, but ultimately accomplish nothing. The guests this evening were some of the richest and most important people of Taris, but their presence here served no further purpose than to prove that Taris remained unaffected by the Clone Wars and its citizens stood on the dubious sidelines of neutrality. Beneath that golden, bubbly champagne feel, Ro could sense though the barest undercurrents of _worry, anxiety _and even a slightly bitter aftertaste of _fear, _as if the champagne they were all enjoying was threatening to turn to vinegar if allowed to languish too long in the cellars.

_They all want to believe they're untouchable, _she thought remotely, still concentrating on the Force. _But the war is developing some long fingers and they can't escape the fact that they're smack in the middle of the Outer Rim Sieges. Grievous or Palpatine could come knocking any day, neutrality or no and they _know _that; deep, deep down. _But the faint traces of unvoiced fears wasn't what she was looking for.

Scarlet's emotions would be sharper, more clearly defined. Ro was looking for the high definition effect of _alertness, _which forced all other things into painful clarity. The former RI agent would be afraid, yes, but she was used to the fear of discover and so it would be far more defined than the nebulous sense of unease the rest of the guests were exuding, but _knowingly _suppressed. The woman would be paranoid, which would slightly distort the Force around her, stretching it like warm, fresh caramelized Pkneb.

Her mind prowled through the huge ballroom like a hunting nexu, taking deep breaths to catch even the faintest scent of her prey.

Had something - or someone - tipped Scarlet off? Did the former agent know that her so called contact was in actuality Ro and Wren, ready to spring the trap and bring her back to Coruscant, kicking and screaming? Or had one of the other teams that were after Scarlet spooked or even caught her?

Ro and Wren had discovered at least three independent bounty hunters on Scarlet's trail, but Ro hadn't caught a whiff of them since they arrived on Taris and Wren was positive no one had followed them.

"Anything?" Wren asked into her ear just as a distinct feel of _interest _brushed against the back of her neck like a cobweb. A second later, someone cleared his throat behind Ro.

"Pardon me, my lady..."

_Don't jerk about,_ she reminded herself quickly. _Slow and graceful. _She turned about with a gentle flutter of her voluminous skirt, a gracious smile on her lips even before she caught sight of the man. There was something familiar about his Force-aura...

It was a good thing that Eda had spent hours drilling her in the art of maintaing her cover; of hiding her feelings behind a pleasantly coy mask, because no sooner did she lay eyes on the man, than her heart gave a little lurch and warning bells started a noisome chorus in her head.

_Ah, phooey. _

The man was in his mid-fifties, clean shaven with only the slightest touch of grey at the temples and the tips of his dark blond hair. He wore his formal dark robes well and the cape flung over one shoulder added just the right touch of drama and authority, without looking in the least bit ridiculous. The lithe Twi'lek hanging off of one arm perfectly matched the Shoroni sapphires flashing from the rings on his fingers.

He had a very pink, prim little mouth and it was currently frowning at her. "I apologize for interrupting," he said, his tone just skirting the edge of politeness, "but I could not help but notice you and," he squinted a little at her face, "thought you looked familiar."

_I should, _Ro thought, dangerously close to laughing or panicking, _I arrested your business partner after subduing him with a bowl of Callosian spring vegetable soup to his privates. _

But thank the Force her mask held. She added a note of puzzlement to the smile, while her mind raced through the alternatives on how to handle the situation. Should she play coy? Scare him off with the barest hint of a threat? Play on her youth or turn out the experienced woman? What would he respond to best?

"I'm sorry," she said in a slightly simpering tone of voice, "I fear that I cannot say the same."

"Ro." That was Wren in her ear, alert and just a bit alarmed. "Sitrep. What the fek's going on?" Of course, he could only hear one side of the conversation.

_What's going on, Cookie? Nothing much, except I'm one whipweed away from being de-covered by my own infamy. Oh joy. _

Potier - _Right, that was his name - _frowned just a little harder and quickly glanced over her, his eyes lingering on the carefully arranged tumble of her platinum blond hair. "I'm certain that I _have _seen you before. Except," his eyes went to her hair again, "didn't you have _cinnamon _hair then?"

_Yes, _a mad little voice giggled at the back of her mind, _eighteen months, thirty-nine missions and one grumpy Cookie ago. _

She widened her eyes, deciding the vacuous ploy was her best bet at this point. "Cinnamon?" she asked and tittered gently. "My, my, what an...ah, _interesting _choice, wouldn't you say?" She directed this question at the Twi'lek who lifted a hand to her finely shaped mouth and tittered back. The act caused her not inconceivable breasts to bounce gently and Ro wondered if the woman was about to fall out of the tiny dress she'd pressed herself into.

"_Cheeka, _target on my eleven."

Time to get rid of Potier and his eye-candy and fast.

"Hmmm, but now that I think about it." She tapped her painted bottom lip with a thoughtful finger. "Perhaps we _do _know each other. The Smiling Zeltron. Didn't we..._tango_?" And she put an extra luscious purr into her voice.

Potier flushed a deep crimson while his escort shot him a dirty look. "I-I don't believe so. I can assure you, my lady, I've never stepped foot in this...establishment." Which they both knew was pure fabrication. "Perhaps I was mistaken."

"Ro," Wren snapped in warning.

She gave a careless shrug, her attention divided between Potier, Wren and the Force. _There. _A knot of _anxiety_, _vigilance _that acted like a magnifying glass. Scarlet was in the room. "Perhaps I was as well." She shot them both a winning smile while Potier hurried away, towing the Twi'lek after him as fast as dignity and protocol allowed.

Ro, herself slowed by the restraints of her role as a harmless glitterati, moved back to the edge of the balcony. She ducked her head, pretending to study the lovely crimson carpet beneath her high, pink and sparkly heels. "Do you have eyes on her?" she murmured, quietly enough so that the words wouldn't be audible over the general noise of conversation and the band.

"South quadrant," he answered immediately. "Near the buffet."

And close to an exit, she remembered. Scarlet wasn't taking any chances.

Ro dropped her half-finished glass of champagne on the tray of a passing waiter and quickly scanned the ballroom below. She identified Scarlet instantly and almost rolled her eyes as she saw the woman's mop of dark red hair. Really, Republic Intelligence had _no _imagination whatsoever. But Scarlet wasn't alone. She was in deep conversation with a Twi'lek male and Ro felt the hairs along her arms prick as she recognized him. Pale skinned, with glowing orange eyes, Bib Fortuna was gesturing at the nearby exit, trying to move Scarlet out of the crowd and towards some privacy.

How in under all the stars' sweet glory had Jabba's majordomo gotten wind of Scarlet's whereabouts. And did he know of the datastick filled to bursting with stolen GAR files Scarlet was willing to sell to the highest bidder? This had to be a coincidence, right?

"Wren," she hissed, trying to keep the urgency she felt under wraps, "we've got a bogy."

A string of Huttese curses was her only answer and Ro saw that Wren was on the other side of the ballroom, hemmed in by a glittering throng of guests converging around the guest of honor, Senator Kin Robb.

In the meantime, Scarlet and Fortuna were making for the exit, Scarlet pressing a small, beaded handbag to her side, while she eyed the surrounding crowd. No doubt the datastick was in the handbag.

Ro bit her tongue to keep her own curses at bay as she looked around. Even if she ran, she wouldn't be able to make it down the stairs in time to catch the pair and anyway, it would attract attention and Scarlet and Fortuna would have enough forewarning to make a hasty exit themselves.

A flash of something bright and glittery caught her attention and Ro looked up.

The great chandelier swayed just the tiniest bit in the crosscurrents generated by the air vents, its many crystals adding a soft tinkle to the music. From her vantage point, it seemed to Ro that all she had to do was stretch out her hand and she'd be able to touch one of those cool, tiny crystalline stars.

"Fair warned," Ro murmured for the earbud. "I'm going in," she said and began to slip the high heels off her feet.

"What the _gfersh..._"

"Just be ready," she hissed as she glanced around surreptitiously. So far so good. No one was paying her any attention. Another quick glance down. Scarlet and Fortuna were almost at the right angle. "I'm going for the subtle approach."

"We're doomed," Wren deadpanned, but she saw him moving towards their targets at a steady rate, his tray discarded somewhere along the way, his head craning about in an attempt to spot her. Not very _subtle _on his part, but in about two seconds it wouldn't matter.

Ro took a few steps back, then glanced back up at the chandelier and her mouth curved into a wide, anticipatory grin. "This is going to be so stellar."

Then she ran.

She was at the balustrade in three steps, _on _the balustrade in a single, graceful leap, _off _the balustrade with another powerful push of her legs.

A woman screamed. Someone dropped their glass and the music faltered.

Ro was flying through the air, then her fingers caught on the strands of crystal from the chandelier and she swung her legs outwards, causing the chandelier to begin to sway in a great arc. The gentle tinkle of the crystals changed to a frantic rattle and Ro laughed as she and the chandelier swung forward, back, then started forward again.

Beneath her, she could see Scarlet turn wide, incredulous eyes up at her.

"_Ro_!"

"Gumbah pudding!" she cried in exhilaration as she let go of the chandelier.

Scarlet recognized her danger too late. The rogue agent tried to run, but she was hindered by Bib Fortuna, who made a desperate grab for her handbag.

Ro, her pink dress fluttering about her in manic waves, landed bare feet first atop of the woman, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a mad roll. People dashed out of their way and a platter of canapes dropped next to Ro's head, splattering them both with fodu and green fire sauce.

Scarlet had been well-trained. Even as they rolled, the older woman tried to push Ro off of her, aiming her elbow at Ro's throat. Ro ducked beneath the blow and slammed her head into Scarlet's chin, following up with a swift knee to the woman's stomach. Scarlet gasped and tried to get her legs between her and Ro. Fabric tore and strands of hair obscured Ro's sight. Scarlet's heels hit her thigh, causing the muscles to cramp and Ro screeched before blasting the woman with a barrage of emotions, all of them centered around a swirling, adrenaline-fuelled _excitement. _Scarlet gasped, her mouth frozen in a wide 'O' of surprise and shock. She jerked once, violently, before her eyes rolled into the back of her head as her body went into adrenaline overload.

Ro rolled them over so that she sat atop of the woman, panting and grinning like a fool. "So totally kicked your keister."

"Think you need to check your definition on subtle, _cheeka,_" a voice drawled in her ear.

She looked up, only now aware of the total silence in the ballroom.

"Ehm." Everyone, from guests to waiters, to musicians and droids was staring at her, open mouthed and bug-eyed. She pushed back strands of her hair - now hanging mostly loosely around her face - and managed to smear more of the green fire sauce on her cheek and nose. _Quick! _her mind screamed at her. _Think of something! _

With all the dignity she could muster under the circumstances, Ro straightened atop of the unconscious woman, trying to brush the worst of the mess off of her torn gown. She gave a delicate little cough, unnecessary, considering she already had the attention of the entire room. "A personal matter between myself and this lady," she told the room at large, giving the crowd a polite smile. "I fear, where she and my husband tend to be lax, I take my wedding vows rather seriously."

Someone grabbed her elbow, trying to haul her upright.

She looked up and saw Wren scowling down at her. The gesture looked odd with his characteristic scar covered up.

"_That's _the fekking best you could come up with?" he demanded.

"I'm a bad liar," she hissed back. "So shoot me." Beneath her, Scarlet moaned.

"Don't kriffing tempt me."

"What is the meaning of this?" The crowd parted and Senator Kin Robb emerged, her dusky skin flushed with outrage. "Who are you and how dare you act in this uncouth manner?"

"Well, ehm. Girls...just want to have fun?" she offered weakly.

Next to her, Wren slapped his hand to his forehead.

Senator Robb opened her mouth, no doubt to call for security, but was interrupted by an ominous groan from above. Eyes turned upwards. The chandelier was still swaying, but there was a desperate note now to the jingling of the fine crystals.

Ro's mouth dropped down to her chest.

"Aw, shit," Wren muttered just as the chain connecting the chandelier to the ceiling-mount gave way with a snap of metal. Frantic screams and people lunging to all sides followed as the heavy, three-tiered chandelier fell to the ground under a chorus of its crystals. It hit the edge of the dance floor with a high-pitched _ka-rash,_ crystal shards flying in every direction, glittering like tiny, multi-colored stars.

Wren hauled her up unceremoniously, flinging the still unconscious Scarlet over one shoulder. Fortuna was long gone, slipped away like a greased Dug.

"Party's over, _cheeka. _Time to evac."

She gathered up the ruined edges of her skirt, snatching up Scarlet's purse - and the precious datastick - as she did so. "Agreed. Let's make a discreet skedooch."

They ran, losing themselves in the confused flow of party-goers trying to flee the ballroom and security and servants running to aid their masters.

Wren, his breathing slightly strained under his burden, shot her a glare that could have stripped the paint off a Star Destroyer. "I cannot. Fekking. Believe. You did that."

Ro quickly tore the rest of her long skirt off, freeing her legs. She shot him a grin that was all impish good humor. "You joking me? I've _always _wanted to do that."

* * *

_Rule # 7: _If you're going to swing off a chandelier, make sure the kriffing chain is secure first.


End file.
